Title: Hot Wax
Author: Gina Rain
Category: X, MSR
Spoilers: Nothing major. Story is set post-Closure.
Small spoilers for Arcadia. Requiem and season 8 do not
exist in this world.
Feedback: ginarain@aol.com
Archive: Anywhere, just let me know
Summary: A serial killer is targeting Manhattan couples.
When Mulder and Scully try to lure him into revealing
himself, they stumble upon quite a few revelations of
their own.
Disclaimer: Once upon a time, CC and 1013 invented two
wonderful characters. They hired actors who added
immeasurable dimension to the written word. This story
is merely an attempt to recapture just a bit of the
magic that occurred when the moon, stars and planets
were all in perfect alignment.
Missing Parts: http://www.geocities.com/ginarainfic/
Thank you: A million cyber-roses to my super-beta,
Christina. This was a mammoth project and she approached
it, as always, with enthusiasm and an eagle eye. I can't
thank her enough.
March 26, 1975
New York City
Last night, his mother laughed at his fears.
"It's not like I haven't done this before, sweetie. I
was fine. Just fine. Besides, won't it be nice to have a
younger, prettier mom? You can tell your friends I
discovered a time machine. That will impress them."
"I don't have any friends."
"Sure you do, sweetie. Now, give me a kiss and go off to
bed."
Fourteen-year old Ryan Wilkins did not want to "go off
to bed." He wanted to talk his mother out of the
unnecessary surgery she was about to undergo.
"Your face is just fine the way it is, mom."
He knew that wouldn't be enough.
"Well, now you know that's just not true. I wish it
were. I thought the little eye job I had would have
taken care of things for a little longer but the lines.
. ." she frowned, lost in her own little world.
"It's for him, isn't it?" Perhaps if he bluntly stated
the truth, she would listen to him.
She smiled. There wasn't much humor in the smile.
"Your grandma always told me that you should do anything
to keep a good man once you've got him. Daddy is a fine
looking man. I'm not about to let him go on a search for
a fine-looking woman. I plan on staying as attractive as
I can, for as long as I can."
"But, mom. . ." He wanted to point out that his father
had already found "fine-looking" women. Or, more
accurately, fine-looking girls, but couldn't bring
himself to be that cruel.
"But mom nothing." She swooped down and planted a kiss
on his forehead. He was going to be tall someday, she
thought. Puberty hadn't quite hit full force but he had
already shot up a few inches over the winter. She would
teach him a little differently than her mother-in-law
had taught Bill. She would teach him to value what was
on the inside.
"Go to bed, Ryan. I have to go to the hospital early but
I will be back Thursday morning. Sweet dreams, honey."
Ryan felt he should say more. Where were the magic words
he needed that would reverse his mother's decision to
have someone cut into her flesh and stretch her skin
more tightly around her facial structure? She was a
stubborn woman and obviously did not look in the same
mirror as the rest of the world. Everyone saw beauty.
How could they not? She looked at minuscule lines and
found craters.
He sighed. She would be all right. She said she would.
He went to bed but not to sleep. Not for a long time.
When he finally woke, without recollection of having
slept, he realized he missed kissing his mother goodbye
before she went to the hospital. He had so wanted to do
that. There was an aching deep in the pit of his
stomach. She had to be all right.
He was called to the principal's office right after
lunch. The greeting was somber. His mother had died of
unforeseen surgical complications during a routine
facelift.
March 15, 2000
FBI Headquarters
Washington, D.C.
Scully walked into the basement office with a rather
cheery "good morning, Mulder" already escaping her lips.
Uncharacteristic of her considering the early hour and
the still cold, dank weather. And certainly
uncharacteristic considering the fact that she had
already been up and about, without benefit of caffeine,
since 6 AM. Sitting just outside of the hospital lab.
Trying not to chew her perfectly manicured nails.
Waiting for the results of the tests she had last night
and those she had just completed this morning. Tests
she normally dreaded when they were labeled "routine
follow-up." But tests she truly feared this time around.
This time it wasn't just a date circled on a calendar
that made her visit her oncologist. This time there were
symptoms. Bouts of extreme fatigue. So extreme she found
herself practically falling asleep on her feet.
"Well, Dana, I'm glad to say you absolutely wasted my
time and robbed us both of some sleep," Doctor Perkins
announced, as he left the lab where he had just called
in quite a few favors to get the additional blood work
done on the spot.
Anemia. Simple, uncomplicated iron-deficiency anemia,
probably brought on by all the Tylenol and Advil she had
to take for the battering she and Mulder received during
their last few cases. Over the counter medication mixed
with a badly balanced diet and lack of rest. And, well,
she really didn't even care what else caused it. She
knew how to fix it. It was something fixable. The
diagnosis had put a smile on her face and the immediate
need to go to work and banter with her partner. Amazing
what a reaffirmation of life does to one's spirit.
He wasn't in the office. Shit.
She removed her coat and switched on her computer. She
checked her e-mail and then opened a half-written report
on a recently completed case.
"Hey, you haven't finished your coffee. Stop that." A
hand came down and covered the screen. She smiled.
"I have to be tanked up on coffee before I start work?"
"Nope. It helps, though. Makes your typing faster. So,
it's really counterproductive to begin before you have
had your fill of java. And we wouldn't want to be
counterproductive."
"So, what do I do in the meantime, Mr. Efficiency?"
"Talk to me, of course," Mulder said. He reached out his
index finger and playfully flicked the end of her nose.
"Good morning, Agent Scully."
She gave him a patented "you must be drunk" look. Did he
really just flick her nose with his finger? Good Lord.
She wasn't sure what amazed her more. The silly gesture
or the fact that she hadn't reached for her gun yet. The
thought that she really wanted to reach for his lips
using hers as bait was even more amazing.
"Must be something awfully strange in the air today,
Mulder," she said, watching him perch his posterior
against the edge of her desk.
"Really? I hadn't noticed. Oh. By the way. We're having
lunch in about ten minutes."
"Lunch? It's barely 9 AM."
"Yes, but since we will be on our way to New York at 12,
we need to lunch now."
She slammed her paper cup on the desk. She didn't want
to go anywhere today. And certainly not to a city that
was at least as bleak as the one she was already in.
"Generally, you make more of an impact when the cup is
ceramic." Mulder said quietly. She looked down at her
hand clutching the paper cup. It had been a pathetic
gesture, she thought, and one she was about to compound
if she didn't relax her grip on the flimsy material.
Besides, breaking the cup would get Mulder's designer
suit all wet and then she'd really be in trouble.
"It's a friend of Skinner's, Scully. He needs help and
we're it. There's no getting out of it."
"What's it about?"
"Serial killer is all I know. We'll be finding out
together. Romantic, huh?"
"Lovely."
He unhinged her fingers from the paper cup that was
about to burst at its seam and lifted it to his mouth.
He took a sip and met her gaze. A brief twinkle of
amusement flickered in his eyes.
"Maybe, we'll have time to shop," he said, airily.
"Give me my coffee back, Mulder," she said, instantly
cheered by an absurd vision of him carrying boxes as she
shopped floating through her mind.
As he walked over to his desk, she mentally hummed the
theme song to Green Acres while visions of Mulder as a
farmer and herself as a peignoir-decked diva floated
through her mind. It was a silly song and a silly
thought but it felt so good to be healthy enough to
criticize her own frivolity.
Rino's Diner
Washington, D.C.
They both were drinking coffee from ceramic cups before
the hour was up. Ed Johnston, Skinner's friend and Chief
Detective on this case, was off the stuff. Bleeding
ulcer. The acid made it worse. He sipped water.
"So, a serial killer in New York. Why haven't we heard
about it?" Mulder asked without preamble.
"It hasn't hit the press."
"It hasn't hit the New York press? The Post hasn't
gotten wind of it yet? This is an X-file."
"Yeah, well, it's kind of serial killing with a twist."
"Well, naturally," Scully said, the sarcasm escaping
through gulps of hot coffee.
"What's the twist?" Mulder persisted.
"Okay. There have been four deaths so far. First one
started in 1996. One each year since then. All of them
occurred on March 26. Women ranging in age from 35 to 49
found dead in their beds. Death came from a massive dose
of morphine. Each woman was laid out on the bed like a
queen. Husbands called the crimes in. Husbands all
confessed."
"Doesn't sound all that complicated so far."
"I'm getting there. In each case, the husband's
fingerprints were found on the hypodermic needle. A note
was left in the husband's handwriting, suggesting a
possible motive."
"But. . ."
"But, the husbands didn't do it. I know who did. It's
just a matter of figuring out how and stopping him.
That's where you two come in."
"How?"
"As his next victims."
End of Part 1
*******************************
Part 2
May 4, 1975
New York City
Ryan had decided to kill his father a few months after
his mother died.
He had always been a hard man to deal with on a personal
level. He had been tough on Ryan. Very tough. Ryan was
nothing like him. And he was still somewhat of a child.
Bill Wilkins had wanted a short version of himself who
would immediately skip over the inconvenience of
"growing up." Every indication that this was not yet
fully accomplished was met with harshness. With cruelty.
And Ryan no longer had his mother as a buffer.
The deciding moment came on what would have been his
mother's fortieth birthday. He had spent most of the day
with his maternal grandmother, reminiscing with the only
person left who understood. When he returned home, his
father informed him that they would no longer speak of
his mother in their house. Tears sprung to Ryan's eyes.
"Stop it. Now," Bill said. He would not abide tears
coming from a man.
Ryan felt more moisture collect as he tried to will
himself not to cry.
"Listen, you mother-fucking little pansy. You will stop
this right now or I'll. . ." Bill stopped. He looked at
his son. Dark blond hair, longer than it should be,
curling at the ends. Patterned shirt. Fucking hippies.
Turning everyone into little queers. Well, Janice may
have wanted her son to be one of them, but he'd be
damned if he'd have a little fairy running around the
house. The kid needed discipline, and by God, he was
going to have it. He went to his desk and picked up a
pair of scissors. Ryan's eyes widened in fear.
"Come here."
Ryan stood back, afraid to move forward.
"Come here. Now. Right now." Ryan walked toward his
father. As soon as he was close enough, his father
reached out and grabbed him by the hair. He snipped off
a two-inch lock in the front of Ryan's head. Ryan let
out an exclamation of protest. He had no idea what he
was even trying to say to his father. He just wanted him
to stop.
"Now. You will march in front of me, Ryan. Straight
back, eyes forward and they better be clear. Clear as a
bell. Not one tear in them or I'll cut off more of your
hair."
Ryan was scared. Terrified. Part of him wanted to run to
his mother, but she was no longer there. Part of him
wanted to yell for the housekeeper, but knew she could
ultimately do nothing if she wanted to keep her job.
He tried walking in straight lines, but his shoulders
slumped.
Snip.
He bit his lower lip, almost drawing blood, but the
tears not only made his eyes glisten, they made his
cheeks wet as they spilled over and onto his shirt.
Snip.
He would be the laughing stock at school tomorrow. His
hair all messed up. Some of it long, some short. He
already had a hard enough time fitting in.
Snip.
He lived through that night. He had prayed he wouldn't.
Shortly after that evening, his father made the decision
to send him to military school. Ryan went quietly.
Almost relieved. But he made a promise to himself. He
would return after graduation and come back and kill
this man. His father. The man who killed his mother. The
man who tried to break his spirit.
Ryan kept his promise.
Rino's Diner
Washington, D.C.
March 15, 2000
Ed pulled out a thick file from the briefcase on the
floor.
He put a crime-scene photo on the table. A pale woman
with long black hair looked lifelessly at the ceiling.
She was dressed in a short oriental style orange baby-
doll pajama. Mulder stared at the photo. Something was
very odd about it.
"I came into this case in 97. Murder of a Manhattan
woman. By her husband. Cut and dried. A little odd--but,
hey--we're talking New York, you know? Elizabeth
Bentley. 42 years old. Husband a big shot in real
estate. Plenty of cash there, I can tell you. Man
confesses to the murder as soon as we're stepping
through the door. She was laying on the bed, dead of an
overdose of injected morphine. Hypodermic lying on a
nearby table. Husband's prints all over it. Something
didn't quite sit right with me, but all loose ends
seemed to be tied up, so I just stored it in the back of
my mind as something I wasn't 100% satisfied with--along
with about a thousand details on a thousand other cases,
and moved on."
He pulled out another photo. There was a tall blonde
woman lying on a bed in a sheer turquoise nightgown that
barely covered her genital area. Head to the side, eyes
half opened.
"Next year--and I mean a year to the day, same thing
happens. Jessica Rogers. 37. Husband babbling his
confession as they're getting ready to bag the body. It
was the same scenario. Same fucking scenario. So now, I
did some checking. There was one murder in 96 with the
same M.O."
"Each woman was killed by a massive injection of
morphine. Each went fast. They were each bathed and. .
.shit, how do I even put this. . .primped. . .post
mortem."
"Primped?" Scully asked.
"Yeah, you know. Like you ladies do when you go out or
something. Sorry, if that's being sexist, Dr. Scully.
But, hey--I never said men didn't do it, too. You know,
like when we've got a wedding to go to or something.
They were each dressed in these rather bizarre
nightgowns and had a full face of makeup on, hair in
place, perfume on, lotion on their hands and feet.
Primped."
That was it, thought Mulder. That's what was wrong with
the photos. The women were made up. Almost as if they
were waiting for their very last snapshot on this earth
to be taken.
"That's still not the really odd "coincidence." Each
husband said they remembered going to bed and suddenly
waking up knowing they had to kill their wives. They got
up, did the deed, gussied up the dead bodies, wrote a
note--the same bloody note in each case--"die young,
leave a beautiful corpse"--and then went back to sleep
next to their wives. Each woke up in the morning, after
a good night's sleep and remembered what they had done.
Each called the authorities. Tell me all that is
coincidence." It was a challenge. Apparently, as odd as
the circumstances were, he had heard those very words on
more than one occasion.
"What about last year?" Mulder asked.
"That's where the pattern breaks a bit. Another murder
but this time, even though all the circumstances were
the same, the husband denies doing it."
Mulder was reading the files as they lay upside down on
the desk.
"But your report indicates his prints were on the
hypodermic needle and he wrote the same note."
"Yes, and he has those memories. But, he says he just
'knows' he didn't do it."
"And you believe him?"
"Yes, I do."
"Why?"
"Because I know who did it. I don't know how, but I do
know who. And I know he's going to do it again. Very
soon, since the day is coming up. I even know who his
next victims were supposed to be. A couple that
completely fit the profile of the other victims. I
managed to convince them to take an extended vacation to
Europe. Amazing how people--even workaholics--will agree
to that type of thing when you tell them they are the
next possible targets of a serial killer".
"So we're supposed to just step in and take their
place?" Scully sounded more than skeptical.
"He's got to be desperate. He needs to do this. I'm
convinced of it. The people he's been plotting to get
to help him are gone. So a new couple that also fits the
bill would be a virtual gift from whatever higher power
he believes in."
"I don't know." Scully was frowning, looking at the
picture of the fourth victim. A lovely brunette in a
psychedelic polyester short pajama.
"What?"
"You've questioned the suspect, right?"
"Yes, once. It was right after the fourth murder and I
made it seem as if I was just questioning him in order
to get more information to convict the victim's
husband."
"Still, don't you think this couple up and leaving and
our sudden arrival will leave him suspicious? If he's
smart enough to pull off this crime, in front of
everyone's noses with no evidence against him--it seems
he would be smart enough to smell a rat."
"He might. He doesn't have much of a choice, though. I
know these killings are not random. Not just anyone will
do in a pinch. They have to fit a certain profile. He
believes he's got a mission. I'm certain of it. Look,
you'll understand all of this as you read the file and
then--of course, when you meet the suspect." While he
didn't intend to sound dismissive, he knew everyone
understood that this was not an optional assignment in
any way. Until the agents had all the facts he did,
further discussion would be rather confusing. "I'm
setting up an ordinary phone number for you to reach me
if you need to. Day or night."
Detective Johnston looked out of the window and watched
people passing on the street.
"I'll leave the number with the front desk of your
hotel."
"Hotel?"
"You are going to be a married couple in town for six
weeks on business--William and Katherine Fox. Walt told
me you hate your first name, Mulder. . . so, we decided
to rearrange a bit. You're both quite well-off, by the
way, so you can afford to stay in a nice hotel for that
length of time. Those types usually write it off as a
business expense anyway."
"But of course," Mulder said, getting a jump start on
his role.
"Anyway, we'll talk when you get into town. On the
slimmest chance that he will actually do some background
checking on the two of you, I want your arrival in New
York to seem completely true to the scenario--right down
to your driving into town with your very own DC license
plates--just the two of you."
3 PM
I-95
Scully leaned back against the headrest. It seemed like
the longest day of her life. She had been up since 4 AM,
gone to the hospital, gone to the office, had the
strange coffee "lunch" at 9:30, hit the road at 12 and
was driving toward New York and reading files at the
same time. There was a lot to absorb about this case. A
lot. She was so tired, she really just needed a short
nap. Mulder was switching the stations on the radio.
Maybe he wouldn't notice if she just slipped off.
"Scully! Hey, don't fade out on me here. It's the shank
of the day."
"The what?" She should have told him. He'd leave her
alone if he knew she really needed the rest.
"You know. . .the shank. . .the juicy part of the day
when a whole bunch of facts could be passed on from one
agent to another. An almost mystical transference of
information from one warm body through the lips of the
other. Say something Scully. . .I'm turning myself on."
He gave a mock wiggle as if someone had just slipped an
ice cube down the back of his coat.
She had to smile in spite of the fact that it only
encouraged his behavior.
"Okay. What do you want to go over now?"
"The killer."
"The suspect, Mulder."
"How very p.c. of you, Scully. Okay, the suspect. Tell
me about him."
"Well, okay. Ed Johnston got suspicious after the third
murder, which was only the second he was aware of at the
time. The wording of the notes is what really got to
him--it was a butchering of a James Dean quote: "live
fast, die young, and leave a good-looking corpse." The
exact misquote is on all the notes. Another thing that
bothered him--and this is from the personal notes he
gave us, not from the official file, was that the
husband of the first victim he was aware of. .
.Elizabeth Bentley's husband, Joseph. . .while he had
confessed to the murder readily, when he talked about it
in detail during questioning, he used terms such as "I
saw myself picking up the needle, I saw myself putting
makeup on Elizabeth." It bothered him and the husband
seemed completely unaware that he was even doing it."
"Mmmmm. . ."
"What?"
"Well, I can see why a small flag could come up on that
one but it's not uncommon to distance oneself from one's
crime by the use of impersonal language."
"Ooh, Mulder the skeptic. Be still my heart," she said
in a completely flat tone of voice. He took the bait
anyway.
"Scully the flirt. Is there anywhere we could pull off
this road for. . .oh, say ten minutes or so?"
She shook her head with a smile. This was what she had
been aiming for right after the doctor's visit. It was
silly and obviously meant very little but it made her
feel good. It made her feel alive. Plus, the little
tingle of anticipation over extreme possibilities
possibly becoming reality someday was very, very
pleasant.
"Anyway, the second time he saw this same scenario, he
was convinced there was more to it. A third party who,
at the very least, was using some form of mind-control
to compel these men to commit these crimes. At the
worst, he was killing the women and having the husbands
believe they did it. And when he found out there had
been a first victim. . .before the two he knew about, he
started an all-out investigation. Now, it should be
noted, Mulder, that the NYPD is not exactly thrilled
about this. They weren't really backing him up much at
all until he managed to get this fifth couple out of
town. Apparently, they are well connected to government
officials in New York and praised Detective Johnston for
the remarkable work he did thus far and encouraged the
further investigation and capture of the suspect. That's
the only thing that is allowing this case to go forward.
But, as you can imagine, if he fails this time, they
will be more than happy to feed him to the wolves. They
have three confessed murderers in jail and they aren't
happy with the prospect of being very, very publicly
wrong about it all."
"Three? There were four victims."
"Yes, but the husband of the. . ." she shuffled papers
around a bit trying to find the information ". . . third
victim committed suicide while out on bail awaiting
trial."
"Ah, I see."
"So, Detective Johnston looked for common bonds. All
were couples married ten years or longer. Not highly
unusual. All currently living in New York, but that
seemed incidental since some were native New Yorkers and
some were not. No children. Common bond. Ages. . .well
there is a good age range but no one over 50. After a
great deal of investigation, he found one common link
between all of them. They all --husbands and wives--had
gone for massages and facials to the same esthetician.
One Ryan Wilkins. "
"Ooh. . .kay."
"Colorful past, Mulder." Scully said, rifling through
more pages. She had already read through some of it but
the prospect of rehashing it for Mulder's sake did not
appeal to her at the moment. She was feeling more than a
little lightheaded.
"Oh, yeah?"
"Yeah."
"I'm waiting." He threw her a quick side-long glance.
"Mulder? I'm. . .can we stop for a bit. I need to
freshen up."
Nice euphemism. Well, maybe not. He stared at her a bit.
She looked very pale, very tired. And here he was making
her read during the long, bumpy car ride after running
around all morning.
They had another thirty-six hours before they were
scheduled to meet the suspect. There was plenty of time
for a rundown on his past later.
He stopped at the nearest rest stop. It was time to get
out of the car.
End of part 2
***********************************
Part 3
Mulder took their soft drinks over to an outdoor patio.
Ingenious idea for a roadside diner. The smell of diesel
fuel was always appealing. He watched Scully as she
emerged into the sunlight. She looked a bit better. She
seemed to be wearing less makeup; probably having
splashed water on her face had removed what she had on.
She stretched her arms above her head giving him a
lovely view of her chest straining against the dark blue
turtleneck sweater she was wearing under her opened
coat.
More and more, he found himself wanting to be alone with
her without work being an issue. They had waited long
enough. It was just a matter of one of them jumping in
and starting this new phase and both seemed to have
forgotten how to use the spring in their step.
"All freshened up?"
"Well, as much as a little sink will allow. Mulder, why
are we sitting outside when it's only 40 degrees?"
"Because, I need the cold to make me more alert than I
was. It will probably help you, too."
She closed her coat and burrowed down into it. She
lifted the cup. Iced Coke. She had been hoping for
coffee.
"Screwed up again, did I?" He said, off her expression.
"No. How could you? I didn't tell you what I wanted.
When you asked, I said, "anything."
"It annoys me that I didn't know what 'anything' meant,"
he stated simply.
It did annoy him. Seven years and he couldn't even
predict what she'd like to drink on a road trip. He
should know everything about her by now. And have her
know that through it all, in spite of it all, he was
paying attention.
"Don't worry about it, Mulder. I like Coke."
He breathed in the cold air. It probably wasn't a smart
idea to sit out here. Maybe it made sense in the summer.
It was damned cold now and somehow the hollow sound of
the wind blowing through the bare trees added a very sad
and lonely note to the afternoon. Even the camaraderie
of the afternoon seemed empty and false out here. It
made him inexplicably uneasy.
"Come on, Scully. Go back to the car. Sit there and
warm up and I'll get us some coffee."
"No, Mulder. It's fine."
"No, it's not. We can save these for later if you like.
What else can I get you?"
She was about to protest when a thought occurred to her.
"French fries."
"Really?" He was stunned.
"Yeah. Really. I'd like them. And, get a double order so
you can snitch an appropriate amount from me."
He smiled at her.
She attacked the issue of Ryan Wilkins with new vigor
after eating a third of the french fries Mulder brought.
They were making their steady way to the Big Apple. Once
back in the car, the playful easiness returned.
"Okay. Ryan Wilkins seems to be employed by a very posh
little day spa in Manhattan. Every single one of the
victims went in for treatments from him. Facials,
paraffin wax treatments, that kind of thing. Ryan has a
criminal record. At age 18, he came home from military
school graduation, walked into his home and killed his
father. Shot him at point blank range, called the cops,
turned himself in and proceeded to be a model prisoner
for the next 17 years before he was paroled. Psychiatric
records indicate that he never really showed remorse for
what he did but his psych tests were too strong in every
other way and there didn't appear to be any sociopathic
tendencies noted anywhere in his past. He was released,
almost immediately signed up for 600 hours of training
to become an esthetician, got a license, a job, and is
now a model employee."
"All right. Now, other than the fact that he is a common
link between all the couples, what makes him the chief
suspect?"
"His mother died of respiratory failure during a
facelift in 1975. Specifically, March 26, 1975. She was
just 39 years old. This is the same date that all the
murders have been committed. One per year since he's
been out on parole. There seems to be some indication
from prison interviews and talks with family members
that Ryan suffered some form of child abuse at the hands
of his father. There is also an indication that the
father was emotionally abusive toward his wife--a great
deal of put-downs and comparisons to other women. A lot
of infidelity--beginning almost ten years prior to her
death. All the murder victims were married to strong-
willed men--some faithful, some not. There seemed to be
a lot of codependency in the marriages and all the women
were scheduled to have some sort of cosmetic surgical
procedure at a fairly young age."
"So he kills them first?"
"Well, that is the theory. Wilkins used a gun to kill
his father. He used morphine to kill these victims."
"Allegedly," Mulder couldn't resist.
"You're right. Allegedly. Morphine is known as a pain
killer and used to be used in. . .well, very early forms
of what we would now consider 'mercy killings.' Maybe
that's what he thinks he's doing. Easing them from the
life of pain he thought they were destined to live.
Leaving the husbands to suffer with extreme guilt and
the torture of prison life. Maybe he felt he let his
father off too easily by shooting him."
Mulder was quiet.
"Mulder?"
"No. It's fine. It's a good theory and we just have to
figure out if he is actually doing the killings or how
he controls the victims' minds. I'm actually just not
used to having all the psych work done for me. It's
quite detailed."
"Ah, you feel cheated."
"Yes, Dr. Freud. I suppose I do."
"Well, just concentrate on your role-playing then. You
can put in an Academy Award winning performance being my
hubby."
"Well, if I have to be a dissatisfied husband, I'd have
to, wouldn't I?"
She looked at him as he stared straight ahead at the
road. He said the oddest things sometimes.
Regency Hotel
New York City
9 PM
Mulder lay back on the huge California-king-size bed.
California-king. Translation: Big as a fucking boat.
She was taking her sweet time in that bathroom. He had
heard the water running for quite a while and he knew
she was in the bathtub. Taking one of her precious
bubble baths, no doubt. He didn't quite understand the
fascination of fizzy lavender scented water but then
again, he was very practical when it came to bathing.
Five-minute showers and he was ready to attack the day.
Or night. He was glad she had let him use the room
first, or he might have been annoyed by now.
He picked up the remote and channel surfed a bit. Not
much on. Or not much that she would be interested in
watching with him. He wasn't sure why he was concerned
about that because he was sure he'd be relegated to the
couch in the other room of the suite shortly after she
emerged from her soak. There was no way she was going to
let him share the boat-sized bed. He was expecting a
repeat of the marital bliss they shared at the Falls of
Arcadia complete with green goo coating her face. He
frowned and rubbed lightly against his tee shirt-covered
abdominal muscles. She knew he was in love with her. She
had to. There were days he felt the same emotions coming
from her but there was something missing. A kind of
silent "permission granted" signal that he kept waiting
for but never quite received. Without it, he couldn't
bring himself to make a move. Their bond of trust was
too strong for such base actions. That was it, he
thought with a frown. Their relationship had sublimated
into something that went beyond the physical and into a
completely different dimension. That was nice, he
thought with a wry smile. Maybe someday someone could
write a fucking book. Turn it into another movie. People
would cry at the tragedy and beauty of it all. In the
meantime, he could cry every time he had to look
longingly at his hand instead of the real object of his
desire. Well, someone could write a movie about that,
too. In fact, he was pretty sure someone had and he
could find it among his personal collection of movies in
the shade of blue. He chuckled softly to himself, not
really finding it all that amusing.
"What's so funny?" Scully asked as she finally emerged
from the bathroom, steam flowing behind her.
"Nothing. . .I just thought. . ." he looked in her
direction. No green goo. She was wearing the fluffy
white bathrobe provided by the hotel and if he wasn't
mistaken, and he was pretty sure he wasn't. . .she
didn't really have anything else underneath. Her hair
was still wet and curling around her neck in tiny loose
swirls. He sat up immediately. It wouldn't do to be
lying back in the rather flimsy protection of
sweatpants. It gave way too much away.
"Sorry I took so long, Mulder. That tub is just so huge
and I almost drifted off in there."
"That's fine. I was just going over the file. But,
frankly. . .that's kind of useless since I practically
know every word in there by now. We can't really do a
thing till tomorrow, so we might as well relax. More
room service, Scully?"
"No." She slid on the bed and lay back against the
pillows. He was seated cross-legged facing her. She
hadn't thrown him out yet. "I'm not really hungry. Just
tired."
"Well, you should get some rest then." Okay. He didn't
want to actually leave unless she requested it. She
didn't seem in a big hurry to do that.
"Mmmmmm. . ." Her eyes were half closed, half staring at
him. He cautiously lay down next to her and waited for
her to throw him out. She didn't. She half turned to
face him more fully. A glimpse of significant cleavage
made its appearance at that point.
"Um, Scully. . .I enjoy the view but for my own sanity,
I think maybe it would be better if you kept that robe
closed a bit more." He reached out and touched the very
edge of the material where the top half of her left
breast presented itself to his vision in all its creamy
glory. His fingertips lightly ran across the skin. "Are
you wearing anything under here, Scully?"
"I don't know Mulder. You are supposed to be a rather
competent investigator. Why don't you tell me?" She
said, suppressing a yawn at the same time.
He gulped visibly. Signals? This seemed like a signal. A
not so subtle, written in neon lights "permission
granted" signal. He wondered if there had been any booze
in the bathroom that he didn't know about.
He lightly drew the side of his index finger over the
top of her breast, over and over. Never seeking to touch
further. Simply reveling in what he had already been
allowed to explore.
"You are so soft, Scully. And even softer here."
She smiled lazily. "That feels nice, Mulder."
Nice? Not a favorite word of his when he was trying to
be moderately sexy. Still, he supposed it was better
than "get your ass out of my bed, you horny mother
fucker."
He moved his finger and traced the dip between her
breasts. When he did, he felt the plumpness of her right
breast brush more fully against his hand. He
automatically licked his lips. He was going to kiss her.
Right there. If she wanted to throw him out, now was a
good time. If not, he wanted to know. . .now. He
muttered a soft "Scully," and moved closer when he
noticed a certain rhythm in the way her chest was rising
and falling.
"Scully?"
She was sound asleep. Now, he was gulping visibly for a
different reason. It wasn't a moment of anger, or even
severe disappointment. It was a moment of realization.
Cold realization. They really had gone too far past it
all. Or she had. They had reached a point where they
could be in the same bed, in various stages of dress or
undress, with his hand on what should be one of her
erogenous zones and she could simply drift off to sleep.
He gingerly climbed off the deck of the love boat and
went into the second room. He put on his boots and a
jacket and left the suite.
Regency Hotel
March 16, 2000
7 AM
Scully woke up in the morning and slid her hand up and
down the sheet next to her. No Mulder. She opened her
eyes. Why did she expect him to be there? Oh, yeah. She
smiled. His beautiful fingers running across the top of
her breast so tenderly. She stopped smiling. Shit. Oh,
shit. She fell asleep.
She jumped out of bed and into the adjoining room.
"Mulder. . .I'm sorry. . ." He wasn't there.
"Mulder?" she called out.
No answer.
Where the hell did he go?
Probably something to do with the case. She'd explain
when he got back. She went into the bedroom and quickly
dressed in black jeans and a black turtleneck. Suitably
city-chic.
She heard the keycard sliding through the door slot and
Mulder entered the room, head slightly down, cheeks and
hands flaming red.
"Mulder? Where have you been?"
"Out."
"Did Skinner call? Did Johnston?"
"No. I just had difficulty sleeping. I went for a walk
in the park."
"When?"
"Around 11."
"Last night?"
"Yes."
"And you were there all night?"
"No. Not all night. I had coffee at a diner. I walked
down to Grand Central station for a while. Watched the
people there. Took a walk back up here. New York is
fairly interesting at night."
"It's also fairly dangerous."
He shrugged. "I'm armed."
She walked over to him and grabbed one of his hands. He
jerked it back. She reached out and grabbed it again,
holding it firmly so it would take nothing short of an
act of violence on his part to pull it away.
"You're cold. You could get frostbite out there all
night."
He looked in her eyes.
"What do you want me to say, Scully? I'm a grown man who
went for a walk. Do I need permission? Do I need to
apologize?"
"No. Of course not." She steadily rubbed his fingers
softly. He winced as the circulation began to return
more fully.
She stopped rubbing his hands and started unbuttoning
his jacket.
"C'mon. Take this off and relax. I'll order some
coffee."
He quickly complied and grabbed the remote control,
turning on a morning talk show. The sound of the raucous
audience rudely permeated the air. He lay back and
stared blindly at the screen.
She looked at him. He seemed so tired.
She had ordered the coffee and sat next to him. She
curled her legs up on the couch and ran her fingers
through his hair.
"Just rest, Mulder."
He turned his head slightly and looked in her eyes.
There was a definite sheen of slight moisture in them.
He could blame it on the cold wind blowing into them all
night, but she knew better. She had wanted their
relationship to shift in the proper direction as much as
he did. Probably more. She felt the bitter irony of
having her body betray her at absolutely the worst
possible moment.
"Why didn't you wake me up last night, Mulder?"
"For what?"
Ah, so that's the way he wanted to play it. Wounded
male ego pretending nothing hurts.
"To talk to me about what bothered you enough to drive
you out into the cold night instead of curling up next
to me and getting a good night's sleep."
"Scully, from which planet did you just land?"
Well, that was rude. But she understood what he meant.
They had never shared a bed before on any case.
"I'm sorry I fell asleep Mulder. I've been very, very
tired and just couldn't help it."
"I know. It's fine."
"I don't think it's fine at all. I didn't want to fall
asleep."
"You may think that's true."
"Mulder--it is true. I didn't want to tell you because
you're such a worry wart, but I haven't been feeling
well. I called in a whole bunch of favors and was up for
hours before I actually made it to the office. And, I
had a PET scan run the night before. Everything turned
out all right. I'm just anemic. I was sent home with
vitamins and a diet of kale and spinach. And orders for
loads of bed rest. Guess which one of those instructions
will be the hardest to follow?"
Anemia. Not cancer. Good.
Feeling sick. Not telling him until the tests were run
and the verdict came in. Bad.
Selfish? Maybe. But he couldn't help the way he felt.
Still, he squashed down his feelings and managed a small
smile.
"I'm glad you got the rest then. You needed it. We'll
have to see that you get plenty of it during our down-
time on this case."
"Well, I think you'll need it as well after traipsing
all over the city last night."
"No, I'm used to it. Besides, I had to work out a few
things in my mind--over the case and all."
Scully swallowed hard. She felt she had to say
something.
"Do you issue rain checks?"
He looked into her eyes. He knew he should feel relief
on many levels but he felt unease. Something was wrong.
Something beyond her falling asleep while he was making
his move and beyond his hurt feelings over her usual
self-protective behavior. As with most things in their
lives, they would have to postpone addressing the issue
until after he dissected it in his own mind and after
they did their work today.
Still, he slowly nodded his head. She wasn't convinced
but she gave him a weak smile anyway.
End of Part 3
***************************************
Part 4
Ryan Wilkins' apartment
New York City
March 16, 2000
7 A.M.
Ten days. He had ten days. Not enough time. So very,
very much to do.
God, he didn't want to do this. Not really. He knew he
had to. Absolutely knew it. But he didn't want to.
Preparation was the key to everything. The ritual would
see him through.
He took down his mother's urn from the fireplace and sat
down on the floor. He held it in his lap and remembered
her smile. Extinguished in a moment. Over some man who
never appreciated what he had in either his wife or his
son.
Some people deserved to die. Some people didn't but
death occurred anyway. They were probably better off.
It was as simple as that and if he stayed focused, he
would see this through.
Downstate Correctional Facility
Fishkill, New York
1 PM
Scully was sitting in a tiny visiting room with Joseph
Bentley, the second victim's husband. A guard was at
the door during questioning.
"Thank you for agreeing to see me, Mr. Bentley. Some new
information has come to light in your wife's case. I
just need to ask you a few questions."
"What for? You want me to stay in here for longer than
the life sentence I already have?"
"No, sir. I'm not at liberty to speak of the case, but
it would be helpful if you could be as honest as you can
with me. This in no way affects your prison term."
"Fine. I have nothing to hide."
"Tell me about the day of your wife's death."
"That day? Hell, that day was just a day. Like any
other. Worked, ate, watched a game on tv. We went to
sleep and I remember being up sometime during the
night."
"Waking up?"
"No. I didn't say that. I don't remember waking up at
all. I remember just "being" up. I remember going to
sleep and then I can see myself walking around the
apartment. I went into the living room and opened my
briefcase. I pulled out a filled syringe. . .went back
to the bedroom and pushed the needle into my wife's arm.
I waited--just looked out the window at the street
below. Then, I came back to the bed, pulled her into my
arms and changed her nightgown."
"Why?"
"I don't know. I just know that nightgown was in my
briefcase, with my files and a filled syringe."
"It wasn't hers?"
"No. I don't know where I got it from. She'd never wear
that type of a gown. I put it on her and then went over
to her make-up. I remember seeing her with the makeup on
and the funny little nightgown and thinking she looked
so pretty. I wrote this note. . .something about leaving
a good looking corpse. I don't know where that thought
came from and then. . .nothing. Not until I woke up and
found her dead. I started panicking until I remembered
that I was the one who did it. From that moment till
now, I just have this huge weight on my chest. It never
leaves me for a moment. I called the police, told them
what I did and the rest---is history, as they say."
Scully asked her questions quickly and efficiently.
Joseph Bentley answered just as directly.
"You remember killing her? Clearly?"
"Well, yes. I can see myself doing it even now."
"Did you ever have thoughts of killing her before?"
"No. Not conscious ones, anyway."
"Where did you get the hypodermic and the morphine?"
"I don't know."
"Did you ever help her put on makeup before? While she
was living?"
"Of course not. Why would I?"
"Did you pay particular attention to the way she did
it?"
"No. I mean, I saw her put on lots of stuff. She was a
make-up junkie, as far as I was concerned. The woman
owned a ton and was always falling for any crap they
were selling but. . .other than maybe seeing her put on
her lipstick, I don't think I ever paid that much
attention to her."
"Yet you applied her makeup perfectly."
"Yes. I guess I did."
"Did you love you wife?"
"What kind of a question is that? Of course I did."
"Were you in love with her at the time of her death?"
A look passed over his face.
"No."
"Was there someone else?"
"No one serious."
"Was this second party older? Younger?"
"There was more than one "second party" as you say. And
they were younger. Much younger."
"Your wife was planning on having cosmetic surgery. Did
you approve of this?"
"I approved of anything that made her feel better about
herself. She had low self-esteem issues. If it made her
feel better, then it was fine with me."
"So you didn't try talking her out of it?"
"No. Why should I?"
"Did you lead her to believe that your relationship
would improve in any way after she had the surgery?"
"No. There was nothing wrong with our relationship. It
was a good, solid marriage. Okay--the fizzle went out
but you can't have everything. We were good friends. .
.well, I thought we were. Maybe we should have talked
more, but it's no less that a whole lot of people have
in their lives."
"Why did you kill her?"
"I have no idea."
"None? Did you want to perhaps marry any of the 'second
parties'?"
"No. No. Not at all."
"Okay. Do you remember a man named Ryan Wilkins?"
"I don't think so."
"He works in a day spa on 57th Street. Invigoria."
"Oh, yes. That Ryan. Okay. Yeah, I do. My wife and I
both went to him."
"Is there anything unusual you can tell me about him or
your relationship with him?"
"Relationship? He was not one of the second parties, if
that's what you mean. I don't swing that way."
"No, sir. I meant, your working relationship."
"Nothing. He gave us facials, paraffin treatments, that
kind of stuff."
"Both of you?"
"Yes. It's very important, in my business. . .it was
very important. . .to look as young as possible. To show
the world you still take care of yourself. I went. He
was good. Nice guy."
"Did you ever talk about your relationship with your
wife with him?"
"Sure. I guess."
"About the other parties?"
"Yes, I guess I did. You know, bartenders, hairdressers,
priests. . .they're all people that are good for that
stuff. They never reveal your secrets."
"In your wife's day planner, there was an appointment
listed with Mr. Wilkins for a "special"
treatment. Do you recall keeping that appointment?"
"Oh, yeah. Yeah, I do. I remember him promising the
world with that stuff but it was no big deal. It was
kind of a full-body paraffin treatment. Nice enough. .
.a bit messy to get off but no big deal."
"Nothing unusual happened during that session?"
"No. Not that I remember. Hey, is Ryan in trouble for
something?"
"No, sir. We just have a few unanswered questions."
Ryan Wilkins' Apartment
2: 30 P.M.
It was time for the wax. To get it ready. It would take
so long to melt. It always took a very, very long time
to melt. But, once it did, it would keep till the 26th.
Without a doubt.
Time to start slowly. He plugged in the specially built
glass chamber. It was seven feet long and three feet
wide. Two layers of glass. The wires that heated the
structure were artfully covered by a thick, golden trim.
It cost a huge chunk of Grandma Wilkins' inheritance to
get it custom-made. But, money was not an issue. He even
got his father's cash, through his grandmother's death.
Another in a series of life's ironic moments.
He went over to his closet. He would haul out three
cartons for now. Let all of that melt first before
adding some more. The heat of the already melted wax
would aid the new wax in melting.
Ryan ran his finger across the golden trim of the glass
coffin. His mother had crystal like this once. He
wondered what happened to it after. . .everything.
He carefully arranged the first bricks of wax.
Downstate Correctional Facility
2:30 P.M.
Mulder was already waiting when Scully came into the
next visitor's room.
"Any luck?" she asked him as she sat down next to him.
While she was interviewing the second victim's husband,
Mulder had been attempting to interview the first.
"No. He refuses to talk beyond his simple confession.
The face to face meeting didn't help. He just sat and
stared at me for an hour."
"Do you want me to try?"
"No. I don't think we'll get much out of him. He's
convinced of his guilt and doesn't want to talk about
anything. I asked him about Ryan but got no response.
Not so much as a flicker of his eyelashes."
"Great."
The door opened and a shackled prisoner was ushered in
the room. The last victim's husband. They chained his
feet to the chair before releasing the cuffs on his
hands. He rubbed his wrists and then carefully placed
his hands before him.
"I didn't do it," he stated simply.
"Okay. Good to get that out of your system, huh?" Mulder
said.
"Yeah. Well, if you want me to say anything else, I just
wanted to let you know that I won't. Because I didn't do
it."
"What do you remember about the day of your wife's
death, Mr. Adler," Scully asked.
"It was a pretty normal day. I've gone over it and over
it in my mind. We both went to work, went for a
treatment, had dinner, went home. Went to bed. Nothing
unusual."
"Treatment?"
"Yes, a special paraffin wax treatment from a worker at
a day spa we frequented. He did them from his home and
this was the first. . .and only time we got one. We
used to go to the spa about once a week for massages,
mostly. We both carry a lot of tensions from our jobs.
We carried. . .a lot of tension. Shit, we didn't know
what tension was."
"This worker was Ryan Wilkins?" Mulder asked.
"Yes. How did you know?"
"Sir. Tell us what you remember telling Ryan about
yourself or your wife."
"What? I'm not sure I can. I mean, I told him lots of
things."
"Did you discuss her plans for plastic surgery?"
"Um. . .no. I don't think so. Well, maybe. I think maybe
I just made fun of her a bit. I didn't mean it, but it
seemed like she was paying a whole bunch of attention to
these stupid little lines she was getting on her face.
She had lost a lot of weight in the last year. . .so,
she had some excess skin under her chin that she just
hated. You could barely notice it, but she was going
nuts. So, I think maybe I just made fun of her a bit.
You know, between guys."
"Did he join in?"
"Well, no. But, I wouldn't expect him to. She was his
client, too, and he just allowed me to talk without
comment. "
"Was there any. . .outside involvements. . .in your
marriage?" Scully asked, hoping to pick up another
common bond between the victims.
"Another woman? No. Definitely not."
"Were you in love with your wife?"
"Yes." Simple. Direct. Truthful. Scully and Mulder both
believed his affirmation.
"What did the treatment consist of? The one he did
outside of the spa?"
"A full body paraffin treatment."
"How does that work?"
"Well, there is this body stocking type of thing that
covers your torso. . .so you don't have to worry about
wax removal in more. . .sensitive areas. Anyway, he has
this glass contraption. . .looks like a coffin,
actually. I remember thinking it was very sci-fi. It was
fairly deep and had a raised portion that acted as a
pillow so your head was raised and your face wasn't
submerged in the wax. He had you wearing a bathing cap
anyway. . .but, still. Anyway, you lay in it for a few
minutes. . .then get out, he peels off the wax and puts
some freshening lotion on. . .and boom. Done. It was
great."
"Did he make promises about the treatment?"
"Promises? What--like ten years off your age or
something? No. None that I recall. He said there was
something different about this wax than the one in the
salon and I guess there was. There were tiny black
flecks floating around in it. . .but, I don't know what
they were. It felt the same otherwise, just better
because you had your whole body done."
"Anything else you can remember about him? Anything he
might have said or done that seemed strange to you?"
"No. Ryan seemed like a nice guy. Period. Interested in
what he was doing. Likeable. That was about it."
"How do you know you didn't kill your wife?" Scully
almost whipped her head around. Mulder did like to throw
curve balls into his questioning.
Louis Adler considered the question. He stared at his
hands for a moment.
"Okay. Well. . .I used to have these dreams. Nightmares.
They were so ordinary and so believable. . .but, there
was such a sense of evil to them. Kind of like someone
waiting in the corner to get you and you know they are
there and there is no escape. They were so damned real
that I was sure I was living through them. And then,
somewhere in the dream, some little detail would be off.
Like. . .I'd dream of walking into the bathroom. . .and
pulling back the shower curtain and suddenly, I would
remember that in real life, I had shower doors--not a
curtain, and I'd instantly wake up. It was always such a
relief. But, even when I was up, I still had that
feeling. . .how could the dream be so real in the first
place?
Well. . .this is the same type of situation in reverse.
It all seemed like a very real dream and I'm still
waiting for the glitch in the system that will wake me
up.
I loved her. I would not have done what I can still see
myself doing. Period."
Regency Hotel
9:30 PM
"Take a nap, Scully. I'll order some room service."
Scully had just kicked off her shoes as they entered the
suite.
"No, I'm fine," she called over her shoulder as she
removed her jacket as well.
"Well, of course you are. How stupid of me." She
couldn't read exactly how he meant that. While said with
a smile, there was a definite inflection of--something--
in his voice.
"Do you want to go out for dinner?" he asked.
"No. We can eat in. We can work on our cover story a bit
more."
They had already worked on their cover, in great detail,
on the car on the way back from the prison. The long
ride and the extreme bumper to bumper city traffic
didn't help matters. He didn't really see much point in
rehashing the same information but decided not to argue.
He really didn't want to approach the other issue that
was fresh in his mind, either, because that would also
lead to discord.
"Why didn't you tell me about your feeling sick?" So
much for good intentions, he thought, after his mouth
blurted out what his mind had told him to keep to
himself.
"What? I told you. . .I didn't want to worry you."
She saw it again. This time, he didn't even attempt to
hide it. He was annoyed. He took a deep breath.
"You know, people who have attained a certain level of
intimacy. . .share things like that with each other.
Even if the other person worries. Even if the worry
proves fruitless. It's part and parcel of a healthy
relationship. I've indicated to you. . .on more than
one occasion, that this is what I want. You continue to
live as if you are in a vacuum. Only accountable to
yourself. Well, I have news for you. . .you do not live
alone on an island somewhere. You are accountable in
some way, if only by virtue of shared affection, to
whoever has been touched by your life. If you think, by
keeping yourself to yourself, you are going to soften
any blows. . .you're wrong. If there was something
wrong, and you did get sick. . .you think I'd tear my
heart out any less if I didn't know about it until I was
standing by your deathbed?"
She stared at him, not even daring to blink.
"Where did this come from, Mulder?"
"What? The thoughts? They have been there from early on.
. .and you know that. The words? I have no idea. I just
got tired of holding them in. If you feel I've been too
vague, well. . .there they are. . .all spelled out--
clearly and distinctly."
Theirs was not a relationship of "spelling things out."
Not on any level. It made Scully supremely uncomfortable
while exciting her in some indefinable way.
"It's not only you I do this with, Mulder."
"Is that supposed to make me feel any better? I don't
understand it. I really don't. Did you shut your entire
family out all your life? I doubt it. Is it working with
me all these years that has trained you to constantly
have to prove your strength? You've seen me in dozens of
situations where I've shown my "weakness" to you and I
have no idea whatsoever what would make you feel you
can't share some of the harder times with me. Tell me
why you do this. Tell me even if you feel the answer
will hurt me."
"You've been through a lot recently. That's the only
reason I didn't tell you this time. I don't know why I
hold back in other situations but I would have told you
this time. Really. If it weren't for--all the stress
you've had with your. . .mom. . .and Samantha."
He sat down by the table in the corner and looked out of
the window at the darkened city. He had been fine all
day. Perhaps the memory of the last evening just seeped
in and overwhelmed his common sense. He had a feeling
that something was brewing under the surface of things
and he had to channel his uneasy feelings somewhere. He
chose the one issue that never failed to irk him.
He had so wanted to move forward and not only had they
stayed in the same place, they actually took a few steps
back on the ever shifting intimacy scale of their
relationship. She would never change. Neither would he.
Both felt a need to protect each other, even if they had
to withhold chunks of their lives and hearts in the
process. They had to accept each other as is. He knew
that. It still hurt and there was so little to soften
the blows when they came. He took a deep breath and
calmed himself. He was overtired and stressed.
"I'll order food in a few minutes, Scully. Just decide
what you'd like. I'm going to take a shower and wash the
prison smell off me."
She didn't stop him. She didn't know how. There were no
reassurances that she wouldn't do the exact same thing
in the future and she knew he knew it. She allowed
herself to lay back on the couch and relax. When he came
out of the shower, she was fast asleep. He crawled into
bed and quickly nodded off himself.
End of Part 4
***************************************
Part 5
Regency Hotel
March 17, 2000
6 A.M.
He woke up to the sounds of someone trying to be quiet
in the room. The rolling of the room service cart was
hard to muffle.
He sat up in bed and stared in amazement at the sun
streaming through the window. There was no possible way
he could have fallen asleep at approximately 10 P.M. the
night before and woken up to see. . .sunlight. He never
slept through the night unless he was in a coma.
"Hey!" he called to Scully who was fully bathed, dressed
and seated at the small table in front of the window.
She seemed to take a great interest in looking out at
the view of Central Park.
"Good morning to you, too," she responded.
"I've been out all this time?"
"Yup. So have I. . .almost as long as you have. I just
got up about a half hour ago. I ordered a huge breakfast
to make up for the lack of dinner last night."
He got up, stretched and sauntered over to the food she
had transferred from the cart. He lifted a cover and saw
bacon, eggs, and pancakes. He closed the lid quickly.
"Okay. Obviously I am a victim of lost time here. And
you should tell whoever your creator is that to be a
true Scully-clone you must despise cholesterol with all
your soul."
"Very amusing, Mulder. This is actually a peace
offering."
He looked sheepish.
"No peace offering is necessary. Except from me. I'm
really sorry. I was going to apologize when I got out of
the shower but apparently the concept was so unfamiliar
to me, my entire system shut down in defense.
You were the one who was sick. That should have been
your entire focus and my entire focus when I found out
about it. My ego could have taken a little vacation."
"No. I should have shared it with you. You're right. We
are. . .friends. Partners." She watched him give a
small, mischievous smile. "You had a right to know and
you would have been a comfort."
He sat down across from her looking right into her eyes.
The strong winter sun brightened her face.
"Chances are, I would have left you without a word, gone
to my apartment, crawled into a fetal position and
approached you the next day as if you had said nothing
to me at all. Old habits die a very slow death."
She gave a small chuckle.
"God, the sun is strong." She got up and drew the
curtains a bit. As she approached Mulder, she leaned
over and put her arms around his shoulders from behind.
"We are a mess, you know. We are so incredibly good in
some areas and so incredibly bad in others," she
regretted the words and waited for the usual suggestive
remark from him. None was forthcoming, which touched her
somehow.
"But, dysfunction has always been greatly underrated,"
she added, turning her head and intending to kiss him
quickly on the cheek but suddenly leaning down a bit
further and planting a kiss on the right side of his
neck. She heard the quick intake of breath and
immediately let him go. She spent the entire breakfast
pretending to ignore the fact that Fox Mulder appeared
to be in the middle of his first hot flash.
Port Authority Bus Terminal
8 A.M.
Ryan walked over to the lockers lining one wall of the
bus terminal. He pulled out a key from his back pocket
and inserted it into locker #927. This would be the
first of a few trips throughout the city. But he had to
pace himself. One a day would be just fine. There was
still plenty of time.
He didn't think anyone was watching. That detective last
year wasn't very aggressive. It wouldn't really even
matter if he was.
He pulled out the duffel bag from inside the locker,
closed the door and walked swiftly to the nearest exit.
Invigoria Day Spa
12 Noon
Mulder, aka William Fox, was just about through with his
treatment. It had been decided that he and Scully would
come at different times to further encourage personal
chatter between each of them and their suspect. He might
not be willing to be quite as chatty knowing that a
spouse was in the other room. Besides, Scully was
currently in the capable hands of a world class hair-
extension person. He smiled to himself. Scully would
probably know the proper name for such a job. He was
still trying to figure out exactly what an esthetician
did when Scully gave him a complete run down of not only
the services they provide, but the educational
requirements needed for licensing.
Some bright spark thought the longer hair, upswept,
would be a good idea for this Katherine persona she was
about to undertake. He just thought she' d look cute.
Like she did the day she bounced into his office for the
first time. At first, they wanted to put her
surveillance equipment in a barrette but it was decided
that both could easily slip a tiny device into the hems
of the robes they were allowed to wear by the time they
hit Ryan's part of the spa.
Invigoria. Was that a word in any language, he wondered?
The spa was designed as a cross between a trendy feng
shui salon and a sterile clinic. Lots of water fountains
among pristine white furnishings and linens. The only
things that stood out from this were the clothes of the
various and sundry beauty professionals. They wore dark
blue uniforms. . .kind of a navy version of the outfit
he used to see the doctors wearing on old Ben Casey and
Dr. Kildaire reruns. He supposed there was some yuppie
appeal to plunking down $150 for a lunch time massage
and "youth releasing" treatment. They could casually
drop the name of the salon and the treatment of the day
to their friends.
Ryan would be in charge of the inner child thing.
The massage was deep tissue and done by a woman named
Helka. Strapping amazon. He looked at the 6 foot Nordic
woman and thought of the two career paths she had in
life. She could either strap on the breast plates and
horned hat and sing at the Met, or knead men into
submission on a white vinyl table. He was thrilled she
chose the latter. He would be sore for at least a week.
He had to warn Scully about this one. She bruised more
easily than he did.
After Helka finished, he was ushered into Ryan's room.
Mood music. Some new-agey thing with lots of harp-
plucking. The room was empty and he was instructed by
the hostess to just lie back on the table. Lie back.
Easier said than done , he was convinced, until he
actually did it. It wasn't bad at all. Maybe Helka
didn't cause permanent damage.
"Mr. Fox. Hi. Welcome. I'm Ryan and I'm here to make you
look ten years younger." Mulder opened his eyes to look
at the suspect. His hair was shoulder length ashy brown
mixed with liberal streaks of gray. It was pulled back
into a neat pony tail and ended about two inches below
his shoulder. Gel straightened the hair at the top of
his head but the hair beneath the elastic band curled
gently into soft waves. His eyes were a vivid blue-green
and he was a rather standard height and standard weight
for a man rapidly approaching fifty. He had a good
smile and appeared to use it liberally.
"Well, maybe only five years younger," he continued.
"Don't worry. . .just a trade joke. So, what can I do
for you, Mr. Fox?"
"Please, call me Bill." No visible reaction from Ryan.
His father's name was Bill but if he associated him with
the man before him, he gave no clue. Mulder had more of
a reaction to having to use his own late father's name
as well as the name of Scully's charming brother.
"Ok, Bill. This is your first time here, so. . .you call
the shots. Afterwards, I can guide you through a
customized course of treatment. Based on what your
preferences are in conjunction with your skin type."
"Well, I'm giving you permission now. I've been to a spa
before but not for quite some time. I've been too busy
with work. But, I really don't remember the names of any
specific treatments. Do with me what you will. I just
want to look a little healthier and try to get the mid-
winter death pallor out of my skin."
"Okay. I can do that. Lean back, please."
Mulder assumed a prone position again as Ryan set up a
few bottles of various shapes and sizes on a small
table. He put a hot towel around Mulder's face.
"So. . .do you live in town or are you just visiting?"
"I live in D.C. My wife and I are in the middle of
setting up a franchise in New York. Old family business
that has really taken off since we took over. Should
take us a month or so of some serious negotiating. So we
are staying in town. She'll be around later. Poor thing
is dead on her feet, too."
"I'll be sure to take special care of her."
"Um. . .listen. If you have any of that. . .what is it.
. .that acid that removes lines. . .try to put a little
around her eyes. For some strange reason, I've been
noticing the crow's feet getting deeper and deeper
lately. She just doesn't pay enough attention to what's
going on and what she can do to prevent it. I swear,
other women seem to put tons of stuff on their face and
Katherine is the type that forgets to remove her makeup
before bed half the time."
"I'll see what I can do," Ryan said.
"Great. Can't have her looking older than me. Not good
for business," Mulder chuckled.
Ryan pulled the towel off his face and replaced it with
a hotter one. This one almost hurt. Mulder felt as if he
scored a little victory even as he winced at the slight
discomfort.
Starbucks
W. 64th Street, New York City
1 P.M.
Scully had two options after her hair extensions were
complete. She could have lunch or listen to Mulder's
first visit with Ryan. She chose lunch. She wanted to
have her own initial impression of him untainted by
anything Mulder might lead the suspect into saying.
Besides, she was supposed to have her own appointment
after lunch and she was hungry anyway. The vitamins were
working slowly and she was feeling a bit more energized,
but "living" with Mulder did tend to be exhausting. She
smiled over her hideously expensive ham, cheese and
sundried tomato sandwich. Living with her was no picnic
either, apparently. She hadn't known exactly what
possessed her the other evening when she decided to
leave the bathroom without anything underneath her robe.
She was tired and wanted to sleep, but she was also
tired and wanted to push the envelope. Mulder pushed
back, no doubt about it. It's not that she expected any
less but still. . .men will jump when the opportunity
presents itself, she thought. Had she really not
presented the opportunity before? She was sure she had.
But other things always took precedence. Other people.
All gone now. Scully remained. She was good and true and
loyal and earned her reward. She frowned at her own
thoughts. Mulder had made a comment about his body
shutting down because it couldn't handle things and
maybe that's what hers did, too, on an unconscious
level. Maybe it didn't have all that much to do with the
anemia and everything to do with mixed feelings. She
knew she wanted Mulder all right, but she didn't want to
be his consolation prize.
She polished off the rest of her coffee and decided to
walk off a bit of her food. The spa was only seven
blocks away and she'd do a bit of window shopping on the
way. She'd save any real shopping for when Mulder could
carry the packages, she thought wickedly.
Invigoria Day Spa
3 P.M.
"Mrs. Fox. How lovely to meet you. I'm Ryan. Spent some
time with your husband this afternoon. Nice guy."
Blue-green eyes, very friendly, nice smile--Scully
catalogued quickly in her mind. No hint of great menace
yet.
"Thank you. Call me Katherine, please. Mrs. Fox is just
something that reminds me way too much of my mother in
law."
He gave a short bark of laughter. "Can't have that
happen, Katherine. Okay," he sat on a small stool which
brought his face about level with hers as she lay there
in front of him, "what can I do for you today?"
"Well, my husband and I have just come off of very busy
season, business wise, and we haven't had time for
pampering at all. Plus, with the tough winter and
everything. . .we just figured, since your spa has come
so highly recommended, we'd try and drop by a couple of
times a week and indulge for a bit before going back to
DC and real life. Once you get back into your regular
routine at home. . .there never seems to be time for the
extras, no matter how badly they may be needed."
" Okay. Well, we can do this. We normally don't see our
clients that often but we offer so many different
treatments that you could easily come in twice a week if
you want."
"Yes, I do. Plus, I think I really might need it."
"Do you? A lot of stress?"
"Yes, there is that. But, well, even my husband has been
making some remarks lately. . ."
"Husbands do, I've heard."
"Yes, I guess they do. But, mine didn't. Not until
fairly recently anyway. So, I tend to believe him. He
looks so good that I really. . ." she looked down toward
the floor and made a small show of seeming to compose
herself, "I really should look as good as I can, too."
"Fair enough. "
Shit, Scully thought. She felt she had given a fairly
convincing performance but it didn't seem to garner a
response.
"Sit up for a moment," he said and gripped her hand to
help pull her up. With one hand he held hers, with the
other, he slipped a pillow under her upper back. He
turned her wrist so he was looking at her palm. "You're
anemic, you know."
"Yes, I know. But, how did you? Do you read palms?"
"Well, only physical symptoms in palms. Yours are very
pale. It's a sign of anemia. You should get that
checked." He adjusted the pillow behind her. "I want you
to be up a bit higher for the mask I'm going to use."
His hand touched her shoulder. "Still tight? Even after
your massage?"
"I'm not. . ."
"Oh, yes you are. The body doesn't lie." He looked her
squarely in the eye. "You have problems with intimacy?"
"I beg your pardon?"
He smiled and the hostility she felt rising immediately
dissipated.
"I'm sorry. It's a question that is designed to shock.
Frankly, those who do have intimacy problems usually
either own up to it right away or they have their feet
pointed squarely in the direction of my family jewels.
You passed."
She smiled a little. "Why do you ask it then?"
"Because I'm supposed to plug our couples classes in the
art of intimate massage and because the tension in your
shoulders released the minute you smiled at me. It's a
great little ice-breaker."
He gave her shoulder a reassuring pat.
He carefully opened a few bottles. He put a warm towel
over her face for a few moments, then lifted it up and
put a dark gray mask on. It, too, was warmed.
"So. . ." Scully asked, trying to keep the conversation
going after he explained all the technical benefits this
sea-based mud would have on her skin, "what is this
couples massage thing? Do you do it?"
"No. I really haven't even seen it. I think it's a
matter of learning how to massage your partner without
causing grievous bodily injury."
"Oh."
"People touch so rarely these days. Oh, there is the sex
act itself, but in our busy lives it tends to be of the
wham, bam, thank-you-ma'am variety. Touching for the
sake of touching. . .well, some people have forgotten
how. You'd be surprised."
"Mmmmm. . ."
"Or, maybe you wouldn't," he said quietly.
"What's that supposed to mean? Another ice-breaker?" She
tried to allow just the right hint of annoyance to seep
into her tone.
"No. I'm just being. . .presumptuous. Ignore me. I have
no boundaries."
"Well, for the record, there are no intimacy problems of
any kind in my relationship with my husband. I mean,
he's busy and I've been tired--and maybe we're not as
young as we once were. . ."
"You can be."
"Well, I'm trying."
"By coming here?"
"Yes, And well. . .I've been looking at options."
"Options?"
"You know. . .to sort of nip nature in the bud. Get rid
of some lines and bags I've been noticing around my
eyes. Add a little fullness Bill has always seemed to
admire in other women. Spice things up a bit."
"It's not needed," Ryan said firmly.
"Well, thank you but. . ."
"You're a lovely woman, Katherine. Don't let anyone
convince you otherwise."
Scully looked into his eyes and saw them change a bit.
They became darker. . .little flecks of gold seemed to
appear among the blue and the green and the shades of
gray that were already mixed in. It was amazing to
watch. When Ryan became aware of her intense scrutiny,
he seemed to mentally close up shop and get the wax
ready for the paraffin treatment of her feet.
Gintelli's
Bronx, New York
8: 43 PM
"You did so well today, Scully. I think you actually got
to him. I don't think I made much of a splash at all
except that he did seem to want to scald my face at one
point."
"That's a good sign, Mulder. Remember, he's not supposed
to like you at all." She speared a wayward caper from
Mulder's plate. "How did you find out about this place
again?"
"I told you. . .it's a state secret."
"There aren't supposed to be any secrets between married
couples, Mulder."
"And I have a nice bridge you might be interested in. .
.only one previous owner. "
They were sitting in the middle of a quiet restaurant in
the "little Italy" section of the Bronx, having as much
of a feast as Scully would ever allow herself. They had
finished the antipasto and the manicotti appetizer and
were currently working their way through a massive
quantity of chicken picatta.
"Johnston told me about this place. He said it's his
favorite Italian restaurant in the entire city of New
York so. . .I figured we'd take a little trip. Plus,
where else would I be takin' a fine Irish lass on St.
Paddy's day?"
"I almost forgot all about it."
"Yeah, right. That parade down Fifth Avenue didn't even
give you a clue, did it?"
"I'm not much of a parade person, Mulder."
"Well, I know that. No parade, no pub--just a nice
quiet restaurant where we can be all alone--just me and
my missus. . .talking about a nice old murder case." He
leaned forward conspiratorially. " I hear tell, we
wouldn't be the first people to do so either but we
might be the first who actually are trying to prevent a
crime."
"Mulder! Shhh. . ." she admonished as a waiter passed
their table a little too close for her comfort.
"Lighten up, Scully. This place is actually owned by a
cop. Not the mob. I was just being an ass, as usual. "
"So. . .anything else I missed while I was being
tortured with the hair extensions?"
"Yes and no. I hear Ryan picked up a duffle bag out of a
locker in the bus terminal but
there was no way of knowing what was in the bag without
a warrant. So, that's kind of a dead end. But I looked
into his prison records a bit more."
"And. . ." she managed to prompt between bites of
spaghetti.
"Well, a few interesting things seemed to come to
attention. He used the library a lot. Many, many books
on magic, personification, enchantment. The few visitors
he had. . .brought him these types of books as well as
some on human communication."
"That's strange."
"Not really. From what his early records show, he
somehow felt quite responsible for not being able to
convince his mother to pass on the plastic surgery.
Perhaps he felt if he just had the right formula of
being able to really reach someone through words. .
.she'd still be here. Tomorrow, I'm going to take a
trip up to the prison and talk to one of his ex-lovers."
"Oh, you are, are you?"
"Well, you can come with me, if you want, but I thought
you might want to just kick back and have the day to
yourself."
She leaned back in her chair and stared at him.
"Oh, shit. I've done it again, haven't I?" He asked,
leaning back and preparing himself for the "don't you
dare make my decisions for me" speech.
She just stared at him. Suddenly, she leaned forward a
bit.
"Would you like tiramisu for dessert? We could share it?
Half the guilt."
He narrowed his eyes as he searched her face.
"I do have some reports to do and I also would like to
do a bit of research in the library. So, even though I
don't like you planning things for me. . .I
magnanimously have decided to forgive you. Because,
after all, I am on a total carbohydrate high at the
moment. . .so, just go with it, Mulder."
"Waiter! Tiramisu, por favor."
Ryan Wilkins' apartment
10 PM
Ryan sat on the floor of his living room, in front of
the glass chamber. The first hundred and fifty pounds of
wax had been placed into the chamber and was in various
stages of melting. If he dipped his finger in what had
already become liquid, it would be warm, not hot, and
not likely to evaporate any time soon. Besides, he had
enough wax in the house for any contingency.
He pulled out the first two special blocks of wax.
Dr. and Mrs. Abraham Shapiro.
The first murder.
He had been such a prick. Right from the start. He
sailed in with his perfect face. Perfected only by the
work of his fellow surgeons. Hair long and full. . .also
the work of surgeons. Shit, without them, he'd be a
balding guy with a crooked nose and bad teeth. He'd seen
the picture on the driver's license. One would have
thought he would at least conveniently "lose" the ID so
a more recent picture would be used as his major form of
identification.
His wife, Libby, was the oldest one he had ever released
from her suffering. She was two months away from her
fiftieth birthday. She hadn't complained much. Mostly,
she had just cried. She cried in his salon. They had
known each other for over ten months. She trusted him as
well as anyone. . .maybe more. She told him how she
helped old Abe through all his schooling and while he
didn't leave her, he was now making big noises about
possibly doing so. How did it look for a cosmetic
surgeon having a wife that looked as old as she did?
Apparently, this talk had worn her down. She loved him.
Unconditionally. And, finally, she was going to do it.
Liposuction. Breast enlargement. Face lift. The works.
He knew she had agreed to old Doc's stupidity the minute
she walked in with her newly streaked hair. He was
turning her beauty into a mockery of itself.
Prick.
She was the first one in the wax. It embraced her. .
.understood her. Loved her. It would take care of her
and he knew that his mother was waiting on the other
side. She'd take Libby's hand and bring her to the place
where they would all live. And they'd be treated the way
they should be. Loved and respected. No more
humiliation. No more pain. No more evil men.
When she left the bath, he removed the wax "glove" that
clung to all the exposed areas of her body. He put them
in a clean bucket and brought them into the kitchen.
Her dead skin cells were in it. Some of her thoughts,
her feelings, her emotions sloughed away with the
refuse. Later, when they went home, he re-melted it and
put it in a small form. He took the block and marked it
with her name. She'd help give the others courage when
they needed it.
Abe's bath was probably just as soothing but it was a
traitor's bath. It would trick him. Believe in the
loving warmth, traitor, and when you turn, I will stab
you in the back. You will believe it is you doing this.
You will believe.
The block of wax made from Abe's residue would add to
the guilt of the men in future years. They would pay
through the dead cells of their peers.
Peers.
Pricks.
He placed Libby's block of wax in the bath lovingly and
twisted his hand in distaste as he let Abe's into the
mix.
End of Part 5
**************************************
Part 6
Downstate Prison
March 18, 2000
Mulder was seated in front of John Stephens. He was
small in stature and seemed to be one of your more
downtrodden prisoners, as opposed to those who had
become hard and callused through years of prison life or
what they had brought with them beforehand. He, too, was
a murderer. He murdered his ex-lover in cold blood
nearly thirty years ago. He killed an inmate, as well.
It was reputed to be a matter of self-defense, but
apparently the judge was not in a good mood the day
sentencing was handed out for that particular crime.
"So. Tell me about Ryan," Mulder began.
"I'm not sure why you want to know. Is what I say. .
.going to hurt him?"
"Sir, if I don't get the information first hand from
you, I will get it second hand from someone else. I'm
just trying to get as accurate a picture of Ryan's life
in prison as I can."
"All right, then. I will help you."
"I must ask, Mr. Stephens, that this remain between the
two of us. You could be tried for obstruction of justice
if you contacted Mr. Wilkins about this matter." Mulder
barely kept the sarcastic smile to himself. The man
before him was already serving a life sentence. He was
sure he wasn't shivering in his shorts over the prospect
of another term added to the one that would only end in
his demise.
"Now. Tell me about your relationship. . .briefly. Was
it consensual?"
"Absolutely. I know what you hear about prisons and
believe me, most of it is true. With the two of us, it
was consensual. Completely. We understood each other. I
really loved him. He liked me. I don't think he ever
fully loved anyone but he liked me and we had a physical
relationship as well as a friendship."
"Were there any other relationships that you know of?"
"Mr. Mulder, is it? There are always some relationships.
. .as you so delicately put it. Three quarters of these
guys would kill anyone on the outside for even
suggesting that they might be "queer" but after being in
here for a surprisingly short time, they are ready to
stick their dicks anywhere they can find. And, not only
that, they can be fucking nasty and violent about it.
Ryan saw his share of that, but he never fought them.
And, man. . .sometimes I would just see these tough guys
come away with this weird. . .I don't know. . .sense of
mercy? Sense of something. I can't explain it. I think
they just knew that Ryan wasn't trying to get them and
they somehow got touched by that. And, you know, it was
something that was uniquely Ryan's. I tried the same
thing. . .thinking it was just some kind of technique
that Ryan was studying. . .and all that happened to me
was a week in the infirmary for severe anal tearing."
Mulder visibly winced.
"So. . .Ryan definitely seemed to connect with people.
All kinds of people?"
"He has a gift."
"What kind of gift?"
"Well, the kind that helps him communicate well with
people. But it's more than that. You see, Ryan had this
theory. He loved talking about it. Well, to me, anyway.
You want to hear it?"
"I'm all ears."
"Okay. We are all born with a body and a soul, right?
Most people consider them somewhat separate. Ryan, at a
pretty young age, felt their connection. . .their
inseparable connection. Only when a body dies, is that
connection broken--and even then, not completely.
Anyway, he felt most people spend their lives
concentrating on the body. . .its strength, its power,
its appearance. This is an incomplete and shallow
picture. It's really only by embracing both that you
truly understand other people and see their real beauty.
. .or lack of beauty."
"I see. And you said he felt that when the connection is
severed. . .when someone dies. . .the separation is not
really complete?"
"Right. Because the soul imbues everything it comes in
contact with, with its essence. So--every part of your
body holds a minuscule part of your soul, every breath
you expel, you expel a tiny bit of your soul. Most
people ignore that--and ignored, it remains useless.
When you recognize it and harness its strength. . .well,
then you have real power."
"And he learned this through books? I hear he used the
prison library a lot."
"He did but while he read a lot. . .about everything. .
.he sort of came to his own conclusions about this. And
he never really wavered from it."
"And he felt this toward everyone?"
"Almost everyone."
"I would imagine his father would have been an
exception?"
"His father and men like him, yes. Ryan told me he
always felt a wall come up when he was with his father.
He was getting some pretty weird vibrations from him,
and really good ones from his mother and some of the
other women in his young life. . .so, why hang out and
try to find out more about someone so negative? He's
come to bond as closely with men as he does with women
but he once told me that men with the types of
personalities his father had are still people he really
doesn't care to know much about. When those defenses
kick in, he never bothers to fight them."
"Were you still. . .involved. . .when he was paroled?"
"Less and less. . .all the time. I don't think Ryan
liked me loving him too much. It made him nervous.
Still, if I really needed him. . . he was there. "
"Are you still in contact with him?"
"No. I don't accept calls from him. I told him I
wouldn't when he was paroled. He has a new life. It's
fresh out there. . .clean. It's dirty and filthy in
here. I don't want any contamination for him, you know.
I love him that much."
Mulder nodded and smiled briefly.
"Were you surprised when you found out Ryan was a
murderer?"
"Well, why else would he have been here?"
Mulder shook his head. That was a stupid question but he
was confident that John would get what he was really
after.
"Mr. Mulder. I'm surprised I'm a murderer. One night of
having way too much to drink and being overloaded with
emotions I couldn't control, and I was a murderer. I
came here, somehow feeling a bit superior to people who
I thought were the "lowlife" murderers. Those who did it
for fun, or for drugs or for. . . whatever. I had the
temporary insanity defense--in my own mind at least, and
somehow I thought that made me better than anyone else.
Ryan killed a man who had really done some numbers on
his kid's head. He deserved to die if anyone can be said
to deserve death. But, in the end, we all took something
that wasn't ours to take, right? And you know something,
most of us know that. Most of us know just how wrong we
were no matter how justified we may have felt at the
time. And most of us never forget. . .or forgive that
about ourselves.
So, no--I guess I wasn't all that surprised. Because if
I could do it, other "nice guys" could do it. But the
fact remains, that there are loads of people out there
who have shit happen every day of their lives and they
don't kill people. So. . ."
"So. . ."
There was no ending to that statement and both men knew
it.
John shook his head slowly.
"Ryan will be coming back, won't he? Here?"
Mulder just looked at him. It was enough of an answer.
West Side Highway
New York City
2 P.M.
On his way back from the prison, his cell phone rang.
"Mulder."
"It's me. I solved the morphine problem," Scully said.
"Good. I wasn't aware we had one."
"Ah, but we did. Where the hell did the morphine come
from? The first victim was married to a cosmetic
surgeon. . .so the morphine was available then. As a
matter of fact, I traced a prescription he wrote out for
quite a large amount of the stuff only two days before
the murder. . .but, Mulder. . .there was another one of
his prescriptions filled. . .two years after he was
incarcerated."
"What?"
"Yup. Through some internet company. Apparently, the
prescription and DEA # itself was all the validation
they needed and they never bothered to find out if the
doctor was currently practicing as opposed to. . .oh,
serving time in the big house. Anyway, it was sent to
his old office, which was still inhabited by his former
partners and the theory is. . .the package was
intercepted."
"Okay. So, he gets enough morphine to last a couple of
years. What is the shelf life on it, Scully?"
"If it's a fresh batch to begin with. . .approximately
24 months."
"So he should be using a new batch this time, no?"
"Probably. Or he will need to use a much larger dose to
kill."
"I see." He paused as he maneuvered his way carefully
into the tunnel. "We have to let Johnston know. He can
watch for any more prescriptions floating around. So, I
thought you were supposed to relax a bit."
"I did. It was very relaxing just being with the
computer tracking all these things down."
"Didn't miss me at all, did you?"
"I never said that. I am very anxious to hear what you
discovered."
"Meet me in the coffee shop about 4 o'clock. I should be
there by then. We'll trade notes."
"Can't wait." He heard the soft sound of the phone
disconnecting. For some reason, the thought of seeing
her again excited him, even though their separation had
been brief.
Ryan Wilkins' apartment
March 20, 2000
Ryan was ready for the second and third victims' wax
blocks. Might as well do them together. They both had
similar stories.
Cheating husbands. Pretty wives.
The first one cheated with many women, the second with
just one. Young, witless things with big boobs and dyed
blonde hair. Designed to make an aging man feel young
and virile. Until the moment the aging man could no
longer get it up, and then he'd feel his age ten times
over. His wife would understand and support. The pretty
young things usually found it highly amusing. Or worse,
repulsive. Neither one of the men had reached that
point yet. Too bad.
The wives could do what they wanted. The husbands simply
did not care anymore. They were there. . .like the
furniture. While the women were seething in a false
sense of guilt over having done something wrong to
extinguish the fire in their relationships, the men were
out stoking the furnace elsewhere.
So sad. So sad.
One of the husbands actually killed himself.
Too bad it wasn't for the guilt he felt over what he had
done to his wife. It was simply the fear of spending his
life in a prison.
There were no shapely young blonde girls in prison.
Invigoria Spa
March 21, 2000
9:30 AM
"You are definitely the early bird today, Bill. Busy
later?" Ryan amiably chatted as Mulder plunged his feet
in wax. What a weird feeling that was, he thought. Not
unpleasant, just strange.
"Yeah, I have some merger meetings today. Katherine will
be by tomorrow, probably. I don't think she can make it
in this afternoon. She'll be doing lunch with some of
the wives."
"I see. Well, good luck. How did the facial feel, Bill?"
"It was great. Made shaving a bit easier the next day."
A young woman in the same type of outfit Ryan wore came
in and dropped off some fresh towels on a corner table.
Mulder made sure his eyes followed her derriere from the
moment she walked in until the moment she left.
"Whoo. She is something. Those real?" Mulder asked Ryan
in as slimy a fashion as he could.
"I haven't had the inclination to investigate, Bill."
"Don't suppose you'd put in a good word for me, huh?"
"Why would you want me to do that? Your wife is so
lovely. . .inside and out."
"Yes, she is. But we've been married for such a long
time. A guy gets tired of having chicken day in and day
out when there is so much steak out there."
Mulder pictured Scully's face when he said that line. It
scared him to the very core of his being.
Ryan walked around the table and looked at Mulder.
Mulder had been looking down at his foot as it emerged
and dipped back into the wax. . .watching the thin
layers forming a protective shield on his skin. As he
looked up, his eyes locked on Ryan's. Ryan stared openly
for a moment, then took a step back as if he had been
hit.
"Ryan? What's wrong?"
Ryan had gone a deathly shade of pale. Mulder was ready
to call in the paramedics when he made an almost
instantaneous recovery.
"Nothing is wrong. Nothing at all. I just have to lay
off the breakfasts at McDonalds, I think. My Egg
McMuffin just hit me like a ton of bricks. I will be
right back, just keep your feet there and I'll be back
in five minutes."
Ryan quickly left the room leaving Mulder completely
perplexed.
In the men's room Ryan stood with his back against the
door.
This man was not being honest. He loved his wife. That
was a certainty. Another certainty was that he held
almost as much guilt in his heart as Ryan had in his
own. He had never received quite the blast of feeling he
did as when he looked into Bill's eyes.
Poor deluded man. He probably thought cheating on his
wife was the thing to do when you were approaching
forty.
He might not be as lost a cause as he originally
thought.
Lincoln Diner
March 21, 2000
2:10 P.M.
Mulder was seated in the diner, waiting for Scully. They
found this place yesterday. Right across from Central
Park. Food was nothing terribly special. . .standard
diner fare, but the view was nice and the strong winter
sun shone brightly in the window, which was somehow
quite healing in this cold, dank city.
His treatment that morning was almost a relief. It had
been four days. Four exhausting days since their initial
contact with the suspect. Four days of plugging away at
what they already had, interviewing anyone they could
think to interview. They still were no closer to finding
definitive proof that the man committed the murders in
the past and would attempt to do it again in the near
future. If they were lucky, they would have an attempt
made on their lives, giving them the evidence they
needed and hopefully, the answers they sought. If they
weren't, he could honestly not predict what the
suspect's next move might be.
Personally, there had been four days of friendly banter
and avoidance of all issues--spoken and unspoken-- that
had crept up during the first few days of their stay in
New York. They were on a case--a case involving a man
who was deeply sensitive to the feelings and emotions of
others. This was not a time to address their feelings.
They hadn't done anything for years, they could wait
another week. But, Mulder thought, only a week.
In the meantime, they alternated nights on the Love
Boat, the huge bed in their hotel room. While one would
sleep there, the other would curl up on the couch. It
was strange, he suddenly thought. There was a couch and
television in the other room of the suite but neither
one of them used that room even though it would afford
them privacy. The thought made him slightly more
optimistic than he had been a few moments before.
"So, how did it go?" Scully asked as she rushed in the
diner and sat across from him quickly.
"Don't you like listening in? I listen to all of your
sessions." He felt a twinge of something he couldn't
even name. She had something better to do that listen to
her partner while he was alone in a room with a
potential serial killer?
"No. I like to get your impressions of things. I'd
rather not make up stories in my own mind based on what
I'm hearing. Besides, I'll read the transcript later.
Did you order my chicken sandwich?"
He nodded. "And coffee."
He supposed her reasoning behind not listening in the
van was sound. But, he couldn't help but really want her
to do just that. He gave her his account of the
morning.
"Well, I made it quite obvious to him that I was not
averse to seeking outside feminine companionship. I kept
oggling all the women in the salon and asking if they
were single and if their boobs were real or not."
"Poor man. It must have been hell."
"It was, it was."
"Personally, I think Helka would be ideal for you."
"Scully, I can honestly say that she is probably the
only women in the entire world that scares the living
shit out of me. She'd kill me. Assuming she even. .
.does things. . .in the conventional sort of way." He
gave a mock-shiver at the thought.
Scully smiled at him.
"Do you think Ryan is buying this?" She asked him.
"I think he bought what you had to say the other day.
I'm not sure I am totally selling him on the idea of a
philandering husband who isn't all that interested in
the missus. He said something to that effect after his
attack."
"He attacked you?" Oh, good. She looked worried, he
thought.
"No, he just had some indigestion or something. For a
minute there, I thought he was having some kind of a
heart attack or seizure. I was about to call the
paramedics but then he seemed fine, made a mad dash to
the men's room and came back. So, I guess it really was
just a case of needing to use the facilities badly."
"Then what did you say he told you?"
"He told me something like, "I don't think you're being
honest, Bill," and I have to say, Scully, that I was a
bit worried there. I mean, the guy did shoot his father
and he could make an exception and do me in that way,
too. I was unarmed, after all."
"And. . ." she wanted him to finish this story even
though the proof that he was fine and lived through the
episode sat right before her.
"Oh, well. . .he didn't pull out a gun or anything. He
just said he thought I wasn't being honest with myself.
He said he thought I cared about my wife a lot more than
I even knew and that I'm only looking at other women
because I think it's what all the guys my age should be
doing and not because I have a real interest in them. He
says he can tell all of that just by looking in my
eyes."
"He said that, really?"
"You can read it in the transcript."
"So. . .now what?"
"Well, I tried to talk a lot about how no one really
knows the needs of a working man and how women who have
been married a really long time don't always take those
considerations into account because in our society, they
are just as busy, yada, yada. And he basically told me
to fish or cut bait."
"What?"
"He said if that's the way I feel, the kindest thing
would be to let you go. . .not to play with your
feelings. Then I said that I needed you too much as a
business associate, as well as a companion, to divorce
you over something as trivial as my need for more sex.
That if I could just get said sex elsewhere, and help
you discover your own inner need to make yourself look
like a 20 year old, we would be just fine."
"Good save?" Scully was almost afraid to ask.
"It might have worked. I just don't know."
They sat in silence for a bit.
"You know, that guy has strange eyes," Mulder said.
"I've noticed."
"First off, the damned things seem to change color every
other minute. . ."
"I hate to tell you this, Mulder, but yours do, too."
"Well, I don't have to look into mine. Anyway, one
minute you think you're sort of having a normal
conversation about nothing and the next, you kind of
want to tell him all your troubles. It's a good thing
I'm a rock about stuff like that."
Scully ignored the macho posing and asked a direct
question.
"Do you think hypnosis is involved?"
"It's a possible component. Maybe he's just harnessing
the 'power of his soul'."
"Well, what about these alleged "special treatments" he
does at home? Do you think he does something during that
time?"
"Possibly."
"So. . .we still have nothing," Scully summed up.
"I guess."
Scully looked out of the window at the park. Such a
lonely place if you didn't have anyone.
"Mulder. . .you found out about his life. . .his sex
life, in prison. But what about now?"
"He doesn't have anyone. According to Johnston, there is
absolutely no one. He never goes out. He never really
makes many phone calls. No one."
"Funny. If you think about stereotypes you wouldn't
necessarily peg him as a loner, would you?"
"You wouldn't peg him as a serial killer, either. But
more than likely, he is."
Scully watched a woman walking against the wind. Her
coat collar was up and she had her arms wrapped around
her own waist for comfort and warmth.
Scully quickly turned back from the lonely image before
her. It struck too close to home and she focused her
slightly glazed eyes at the food the waitress put down
before her.
Invigoria Spa
March 22, 2000
6 PM
"Katherine?"
"Yes?"
"Tell me about your husband. Where did you meet?"
"Oh, we met through mutual business acquaintances. Bill
had just inherited kind of a dud of a business from his
father and we hooked up as partners. We both had the
same goals and decided to commit ourselves entirely to
the pursuit of them."
"And the sparks flew?"
"Something like that." Scully smiled to herself. Ryan
was applying a thin layer of the special sea mask that
'Katherine' seemed to enjoy the most. She watched as his
eyes shifted from more-blue to more-green. Mulder's eyes
looked green sometimes.
"One of those relationships that took awhile, huh?" Ryan
prompted.
"Yes. I guess so. Bill. . ." Scully looked into the
green of Ryan's eyes. Mulder. What had Mulder told her
from the beginning of their partnership? "Bill had a
very specific goal in mind when we first became
partners. It may sound weird but it was almost a quest.
He was very honest about it. He told me right from the
beginning that achieving that goal was all that mattered
to him. And it didn't bother me at all. It excited me,
really.
He was more intense than anyone I had ever met. Yet, he
was. . .fun and smart and so incredibly respectful. Of
me, my opinions. Everything. Soon his goal literally
became my goal."
"Sounds like a pure business arrangement."
"No, of course not. I mean, there was that element. And
it was very strong. But, there was more. I felt. . .I
felt so much for him. His victories were my victories.
His pain was my pain. I missed him terribly the few
times we were away from each other. I didn't always
know. . .if he felt as strongly." Scully found she could
keep their cover names straight but it was almost
impossible to keep from saying exactly what she was
feeling towards Mulder at the moment. She tried to look
away from Ryan's unwavering gaze, but couldn't. "I tend
to keep things inside but he is always so passionate
about the things that really matter to him and I
thought. . .if he wears his heart so openly on his
sleeve for everything else and doesn't for. . .us. .
.maybe it's because there is no great passion. I mean,
he loves me fiercely and has proved it time and time
again but. . .when it was time for us to get together.
. .to become lovers, I always wondered if we did
because. . .I was there. Through it all. That somehow,
it was his way of rewarding me for any sacrifices I
might have made. . ."
Ryan continued to stare into her eyes. She was looking
at them and almost through them and then suddenly
realized what she had said. She immediately went into
full-Katherine/Scully mode.
"Oh, I'm just neurotic, I guess."
"No. You're not. There is nothing wrong with a woman
having doubts. It is the man's job in this world to make
sure he reassures his lady."
"You're very old-fashioned, Ryan."
"Yes. I guess I am. There are things that are either
right or wrong and people seem to forget that all the
time."
Van
56th Street, New York City
Ed was having a fit while Mulder's skin appeared to be
taking on a deeper hue by the instant.
"What. . .the fuck. . .was she doing?"
"She pulled it off. I think she got his sympathy and
that was what we were after."
"She was also supposed to stick to the story. You two
were supposed to have had a hot and heavy love affair.
It's only now. . .with your mid-life crisis that you're
looking at the ladies and not noticing her assets."
"I think she probably thought this story was more
compelling. You have to admit. . .it was."
Ed seemed to have the wind knocked out of his sails.
"Well, she didn't contradict anything we've said before
and it does sound like she "accidentally" just confided
more than she originally planned. . .so, that might be
all right. Just tell her to stick to the fucking script
next time, okay? We worked on everything for too long to
mess it all up with her ad-libs."
Mulder smiled. Was this New York or Hollywood? A movie
set or an unmarked van?
Was this real or Scully making up stories for the sake
of the case?
He knew the answer.
His face felt as if it were flaming now.
He knew they approached cases differently. He knew they
approached some aspects of life differently. But they
always had this unspoken bond that calmed waters when
they got too rough; that allowed them to understand each
other's feelings. He never, in all the time they knew
each other, would have imagined this one extreme and
total malfunction in this bizarre connection of theirs.
He suddenly felt bitterly ashamed.
End of Part 6
********************************************
Part 7
Regency Hotel
7:31 PM
She slid the keycard in the door and opened it. The
suite was dark. Good. She beat Mulder to the hotel.
Maybe he hadn't even been listening to the surveillance.
She closed the door behind her and leaned her head
against it briefly. She wasn't concentrating enough. She
let Ryan get to her. She sighed heavily and reached her
hand out to flick the light switch on. A warm hand
covered hers.
"Don't."
She jumped a bit at the touch of his hand but
immediately calmed at the sound of his voice.
"Mulder. Shit. You scared me. What' s wrong? Why don't
you want the light on?"
She felt him move directly behind her and put one hand
on either side of her, effectively trapping her with her
face to the door.
"It's difficult enough in the dark, without you looking
at me."
"What is?" She was beginning to get nervous. What the
hell was he up to?
"I'm making an attempt to fish."
"What?" Her voice rose a half-octave.
His breath was warm against her hair. He wasn't touching
her but the heat he generated mixing with the nerves and
the heavy winter coat she was wearing was not making
this a comfortable moment.
"No one said this trip had to be a journey of true
confessions, Mulder."
"Ah, but circumstances. . ." the teasing tone went out
of his voice replaced by one that was a mixture of hurt
and bafflement.
"How could you believe that, Scully?" Scully tensed up.
He had heard the surveillance.
"How could you possibly believe that I want you because
you're . . .there? Or because it's 'easy'--which it
isn't, in case you haven't noticed. "
"Mulder. . .please. Back up a bit and let me get out of
this coat and we'll talk, okay? I have no idea why I
said what I said but it doesn't have to mean anything."
"It means everything. Let me just finish and I'll let
you go, all right?" He took a deep, cleansing type of
breath. "There were a thousand reasons not to get
involved. At the beginning, it was because it wasn't
smart to get involved with a co-worker. That turned into
it's not smart getting involved with a friend. And then.
. .with my search for Samantha and everything that went
with it. . .there was danger and a thousand more
reasons. And they all were valid. But the main reason
was that as long as other things mattered to the point
where they had to be seen through to completion. . .as
long as there was some sense of unfinished business. .
.I felt I would be cheating you by not giving you
everything you deserved. But, you know what? I still
cheated you. And I cheated myself. It's not like I
encouraged you to seek any of this outside of our
relationship. In fact, I damned well discouraged you.
So we both ended up with nothing. But, at the very, very
least Scully. . .I thought you understood all of this
and somehow agreed. That when it was over, we'd be
together. I've been waiting for some idiotic sign that
you were completely ready to start a new phase of our
relationship while you've been wondering if I really am
in love with you or I've just sort of come to want you
by default."
He took a breath. For someone who could be so closed
off, he sure could spell things out when he wanted to,
she thought. She felt his fingers come around to the
front of her coat.
"This thing unbuttoned?" he asked. She nodded her head
and he found the edges of the two sides of her coat, and
dug a bit further and found the two edges of her opened
blazer. In a moment, he had pulled them both back and
tossed them to the couch in the sitting room. Scully did
not move from the door. He put his hands back and bent
forward a bit to be on the same level as her ear.
"I am. . .and have been. . .completely in love with you
for a very long time."
She leaned against the door again to cool her face and
give herself a moment. She believed him. God help her,
she believed him.
She opened her eyes and looked at Mulder's arms trapping
her. They were bare. He had been generating a remarkable
amount of body heat.
"Mulder. Are you wearing anything?" She asked, curiosity
getting the better of her.
"I left my boxers on. I figured, you being a scientist
and all, if you doubted my words or the level of passion
I feel for you. . .you only need turn around and there
would be your tangible proof."
She couldn't help it. She started to laugh. Love-talk,
Mulder style.
"Turn around, Scully," he whispered softly.
He moved away a bit and she turned. She couldn't look
down. Not just yet. She touched his chest and ran her
fingers down between his breastbone. She moved forward
and kissed him there. Lightly. Her hands reached out and
gripped each of his upper arms as she leaned in and
equally lightly touched her tongue to the flesh she had
just kissed.
She had just always wanted to do that.
Salty. Mulder tasted salty. He ran his hands down her
lower back and gently pushed back the waist band of her
dress pants, running his fingers across the skin
underneath.
"Mulder?" she said softly. "I want to collect my rain
check from the other day."
"I've already started processing that request." He found
enough give in the elastic back to slip his hand inside
the back of her pants and run his hand underneath the
silkiness of her underwear, across her buttocks. A
rather large jolt of feeling shot across her and took
her breath away.
"Stop. I mean, not here."
"The love boat?" he murmured against her hair.
"What?"
"The huge bed in there. . ."
"Yes, the bed."
He grabbed her hand in an almost painful grip and walked
with her into the bedroom. She changed her mind and
pulled him over to the chair near the window. She could
finally see him better. New York was a very bright city,
even at night.
"Sit."
"Why?" He looked crushed. Like a child about to go to a
baseball game being told he has to go to his great-aunt
Ida's house instead.
"Sit."
He sat on the chair and watched as she quickly removed
her blouse and pants and sat down on his lap.
"Better?"
"Um. Yeah. I'm still not sure why we're not on the bed
but whatever you want. . ."
"We're not on the bed because I want to see you. I
don't want to turn on the light. Not right now. I can
see you here." She ran her hand up and down his chest.
He pulled her closer and used the proximity to quickly
unhook her brassiere. He pushed the straps down off her
shoulders and threw the garment somewhere on the floor.
"I can see you, too." He smiled. She grabbed on to his
shoulders and lifted herself up a bit. He took her cue
and kissed her between her breasts as he had wanted to
do the other evening. He pulled back. She wasn't asleep
yet. Always a good sign. Another good sign was when she
pulled his head forward and to the right, so he could
grasp onto and suckle one breast. He didn't need much
direction. He pulled and nipped as she moaned her
encouragement. She felt his breath grow shallow and
heated as he pulled away from her and went over to her
other nipple. She was torn between pushing his head even
closer to her and wanting to throw her own head back in
pure delight. She chose neither. After a few moments of
exquisite torture, she slipped off his lap and watched
as her breast sloppily slid out of his mouth as he tried
to follow it. She smiled a brief apology and shimmied
out of her panties and motioned for him to do the same
with his boxers. He stood there watching her for a
moment. His Scully. . .naked in the glow of the
moonlight coming through the window.
"Mulder. . .please."
He pulled them down carefully over his painful erection
and off his hips.
"Bed?" he asked again.
Her eyes twinkled a bit as she reached out and lightly
ran her fingers over his penis. He gasped a bit at the
touch.
"No. Right here. In the chair."
"The chair?"
"Yes. Is there a problem?"
"No problems." He sat back down and she straddled his
lap, sitting just far away enough so that his erection
wasn't touching her at all. He had a small frown on his
face but was obviously very intrigued. She reached out
and touched him again, warmly wrapping her fingers
around him and sliding her hand up and down his length.
She closed her eyes for a moment. This was real. He was
going to be in her soon. All of him. She felt her own
moisture as it seeped onto his lap. She scooted forward
so his erection pressed against her belly.
"I think. . .I need to kiss you now," she said.
He was desperate to say something to break the tension
but knew it wouldn't be the right thing to do. Instead,
he just nodded his head as she touched her lips to his.
It was a whisper soft touch and was over in a moment.
She pulled back and before he could process the first
kiss, she crushed her mouth to his for the second. There
was nothing soft or gentle about it and both of them
opened their mouths wider as their tongues began
touching and tasting as much as possible before their
imminent joining. She reached behind him and started
running her nails across his back as he grabbed her ass
and squeezed in a rhythmic motion. Finally, Scully
pulled herself up and gripped his erection again. She
positioned herself and slowly let him in. She stopped
mid-way and took a breath before continuing her descent.
Once he was completely inside her, she grabbed onto his
shoulders and moved her mouth to his ear.
"God, oh, God. Don't move, Mulder. Not for a second.
Just wait."
He worried he was hurting her but she just found
herself overwhelmed by sensation. She didn't want to
give in just yet. She wanted to build things up more.
Hopefully, to the point where gaining control wouldn't
even be an option. She breathed heavily into his
shoulder, running her tongue on whatever flesh she
encountered as she slowly moved her head. When she felt
somewhat in control, she rocked forward a bit. Mulder
rocked back. He was so deep and she felt so tight. It
was almost painfully wonderful. Soon, she was
comfortable enough to move herself up and back down
again in a fairly even motion. He continued to push up
into her--his thrusting equaling the strength of her
motions, careful not to be too gentle, or too rough.
Scully knew he was letting her set the pace and she
hooked her toes on the bottom rung of the chair and
started slamming down harder. He responded in kind and
it seemed he was going deeper with each upward motion
until suddenly, any control she thought she had
disappeared. A warm tingling spread throughout her
entire body as she violently spasmed around him. The
contractions gripped him as he continued pumping and her
constant low moaning soon sent him over the edge. He
came, calling her name and the name of a deity he
denied belief in.
His arms went loose around her body as she clung to him
tightly, with her head buried in his neck. She rocked
forward a bit more as he slowly softened within her.
Another low moan escaped her throat.
"Scully?" he panted.
"Mmmmm. . ."
"I think I might just love sex in chairs."
She smiled against his skin.
"I think I might just love sex with you." He added.
"Why Mulder," she sleepily said. "how very p.c. of you."
He laughed and ran his hands through her hair. It took
slightly longer to slip through his fingers.
"Hey. I forgot about this. Your hair. . .it's pretty
this way."
She didn't say anything. He leaned down and crooked his
head to see if she was awake. She was.
"You want to go to sleep now, Scully?"
He felt her contract her muscles against him.
"We can go to bed, Mulder. But, I'm not sleeping for
quite some time. If I'm tired, I will drive red hot
nails in my side to make sure I'm up."
"A violent streak, too?"
"No. I just. . .it is true confession time, isn't it
Mulder?"
"Yes. It seems to be."
"I just want to touch and taste every square inch of
you. If that meets with your approval, that is."
"Scully?" His eyes were wide and dark.
"I think. . .I really need to kiss you now."
She lifted her head off his shoulder and smiled. She
captured his face between her hands and looked deeply
into his eyes. There were so many things she wished she
could feel comfortable saying. So many feelings she
wished mere words would convey. She also knew they were
not necessary.
"You mean. . .everything. . .to me," her voice had a
slight crack to it. That was the truth. As honest and as
plain as could be.
He lifted his hand to her hair and pushed it slowly back
from her face. He moved one finger and lightly traced
her lips. She finally, slowly leaned forward to grant
his request.
End of Part 7
*******************************************
Part 8
Ryan Wilkins' Apartment
March 23, 2000
7 A.M.
Ryan woke with a headache. He got up from the couch and
took some Tylenol, then went into his bedroom and closed
the drapes against the morning sun. He almost never
slept in his bedroom. He wasn't used to a large bed.
He threw a hand over his eyes. God, he didn't want to do
this. He hadn't wanted a lot of things in his life.
What was he thinking? Well, that was the trouble. He
wasn't thinking. He was feeling. He was always, always
feeling. If he had to do it all over again, he would
not have worked to cultivate the gift he knew he was
born with. He would have squashed it down into the
deepest recesses of his mind and heart. He would have
listened more to his father. Become hard. Had lots of
lovers and toss them out the minute they became older.
Yeah, right.
He should have hated his mother. He knew that a part of
her was selfish for taking a risk that would not only
cost her child the loss of a parent, but the loss of
childhood, innocence, a "life" of his own. But he knew
that wasn't the whole story. He knew before it happened
that the pain she experienced, simply in living a life
with a man who no longer loved her, blinded her to
anything else. He knew she would not knowingly cause him
pain, but simply wanted her own pain to stop.
He thought for a moment of his mother and women like
her. Living lies, searching for comfort in a
relationship that only flourished in their own minds.
Never seeking or accepting options. Did they only see
themselves through the eyes of men? Did that reflection
taint their own views of who they were, both physically
and spiritually?
He prepared for a profession when he knew that parole
was a likelihood. By choosing a "beauty" career, he
really thought he could make a difference in the way
some women saw themselves, not through artificial
reconstruction but by building up what nature herself
provided. And for some, he did. But women like his
mother would never be convinced by a man like him. They
would only be convinced by men who never possessed the
generosity of spirit needed to give them the reassurance
they desired. That was when the seed was planted. That
was when he had the idea of salvation for the women, and
damnation for their men.
His mother didn't make him do what he did. He couldn't
even attribute his actions to his father. It was all
one. The spirit given to you at birth, the circumstances
of your family and upbringing, your friends, your
relatives, your experiences, your feelings. His
feelings. . .were they his feelings alone or those of
everyone connected to him? Was he completely responsible
for his actions or was everyone around him partially to
"blame?"
He turned over, willing the thoughts to stop.
They came anyway.
Bill and Katherine Fox. They weren't like the others at
all. There was much, much more going on with them. At
first, Ryan had done what he always did. He only felt
Katherine's pain. He had a natural inclination to side
with women. He knew it stemmed from his love of his
mother. It remained forever frozen in his mind as the
ideal relationship because adult conflict never entered
into the equation. He had read that much in his
psychology books. But yesterday, what he felt from Bill
was amazing. It was a complete understanding.
Bill had known pain and guilt and Bill had been lying to
him.
That much he knew.
He closed his eyes and tried to think of something else.
Today would be a difficult day. He only had three days
to prepare. To do things perfectly.
To make things right.
Regency Hotel
7:30 AM
"Scully. You have to get some sleep."
"I did."
"For only an hour after you. . .passed out, for lack of
a better term?"
She looked up from her position at Mulder's midsection.
She was lying in her robe with her head on Mulder's
stomach, absentmindedly running her fingers up and down
his pelvis.
"That's a good term. I think I actually did pass out."
Mulder shook his head in amusement.
"Scully? You having fun with your new toy?"
She lifted herself up and lay down on the pillow next to
his.
"You're embarrassing me, Mulder."
"No, I'm not," he ran his finger down her cheek. "You
get all pink right here. . .when you're embarrassed.
Besides, nothing you do in here should ever embarrass
you."
"Well, except for falling asleep while you are in the
middle of things."
"I believe you had a doctor's excuse for that. So it
doesn't count anymore."
"Good. You know I hate having anything on my permanent
record." She touched his lower lip and leaned forward
and kissed him softly. She put her hands in his hair and
brought him a bit closer. "Ryan said people don't know
how to touch anymore."
"Um, Scully? Perhaps it's best if we leave serial
killers' quotes outside of our bed."
"Perhaps. But I just brought up the concept because I
think we do a pretty good job of touching."
He kissed her nose.
"We have two options here, Scully. We can either take
the next hour and get some rest, or I can try to make
you pass out again."
"Let's try for both. I'm an overachiever."
Mulder smiled at her before parting her robe and
traveling in a more southern direction, where everything
was much warmer.
Ryan Wilkins' apartment
11 A.M.
Ryan called in sick. He never did that before but felt
justified today.
He had to do this. This was the hardest thing.
The last two bricks of wax had to go in.
He padded over to his immaculate kitchen and poured
himself another glass of water to go with the additional
Tylenol tablets.
He sat on the floor and unwrapped the wax.
Laura Adler. "Call me Laurie." She was sweet. Very
sweet. But, like most of the women he had come to know,
she was not happy with herself. She had lost sixty five
pounds in the past year and her face was not as firm as
she had wanted it to be. She wanted overnight results.
She came right out and said it. She finally had the body
for her husband, now she wanted the face to match.
He had known them for only two months. No one else that
year had even come close. He heard Laurie's story and
immediately imagined what her husband must be like. He
suggested that she bring him along for treatments and
she listened.
He was funny. Always cracking jokes. He found his wife's
desire for cosmetic surgery funny. He found life
amusing.
Ryan hated that.
And so it was decided.
He booked them for the special treatment.
He had carefully prepared the wax baths and they came
in. Laurie first, as the woman was always first. He
watched her while she lay back in the wax. He did what
he always did. He prayed that the goddesses his mother
was with would bring her a good night's sleep and awaken
her in a land that was beyond human comprehension.
When it was Louis' turn, he stood in the doorway and
damned him to a living hell. Laura was cleaning up in
the bathroom. This part never took long. He walked into
the room and sat next to the chamber.
"Comfortable, Louis?"
"Yes, this is great."
"Open your eyes, Louis."
Louis opened his eyes and looked straight into Ryan's.
He seemed uncomfortable and wanted to look away but
couldn't. Ryan knew when the moment happened. When the
subject was ready. When the window to the soul was
opened.
"There is a side door to your apartment building, Louis.
Where the janitors bring out the trash. There is a
pretty simple lock there. Make an excuse while getting
your mail and unlock that door, all right?"
"Yes."
"Don't lock your front door. Make it seem as if you do,
but keep it opened. Okay?"
"Fine."
"When you see me, Louis, I won't be me anymore. I will
be the face you see in the mirror every morning. I will
be you. I know everything about you, Louis. Everything.
I am you and you are me. You will watch yourself quietly
tonight Louis. You will think about the things you see
for the rest of your life."
"Yes."
"Close your eyes, Louis. I am myself now. For a little
while. Until tonight--after you wake up."
Louis closed his eyes and seemed to drift off for a
moment. When he came to, the room was empty and Ryan was
just walking in from the kitchen.
"Time to peel away all that dead skin, Lou."
Ryan now touched the wax formed from remnants of Louis'
bath. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly, forcing himself
to remember. Remember the murder.
He had slipped into their apartment silently, as he
always did. Surgical gloves on. He went into their
bedroom and went straight to Laura. He injected her with
the morphine left from last year's prescription. Soon,
she would be dead. He would wake up Louis and hand him
the hypodermic. He would mimic Ryan's previous actions
with the empty syringe. There was a ritual to the
actions. Louis would wake up and watch "himself" while
in reality, Ryan was the one who made up the face of the
dead woman, perfumed her body and slipped one of his
mother's old nightgowns over her head. So many, many
nightgowns. So pretty. He had always admired them. These
ladies deserved to wear something very pretty and his
mother would recognize them as special when she greeted
them.
Then, Louis would go to sleep, waking up remembering
seeing himself doing all of these things. He would pay.
Tears silently made their way from Ryan's tightly shut
eyelids.
It didn't work that way.
It all went wrong.
He woke up Louis after he gave Laura the injection.
"Here, Louis. Take this. You know you want to. She's
just holding you back. Holding you back from someone
younger--prettier. Take it."
Louis took the empty hypodermic and went through the
motions of holding it in his hand next to Laura's skin.
Louis was in a trance-like state but Ryan jumped when
Laura started to wheeze. Death had always occurred
quietly with the others. Quickly and quietly. Laura was
wheezing. . .her eyes open. . .gasping for breath.
Ryan had to keep his composure. He needed to stop her
suffering. He took the hypodermic from Ryan's fingers
and pulled the small bottle from his jacket pocket.
There were a few cc's of medication left. He quickly
filled the syringe and plunged it into Laura's arm, as
close to the site of the first injection as possible.
She stilled after a moment.
Ryan's head had been reeling. He needed to step back and
do this right. Louis must be punished and no doubt must
be shed on his crime. He had him hold the syringe again,
to make sure the prints were fresh and not blurred from
his reuse of the needle. Then, he prepared Laura.
Something else had been wrong. As he was preparing to
leave, he looked back. Louis had crawled back into bed
and curled his body around that of his wife's.
"I love you baby," he murmured to her lifeless form.
Ryan listened. For the first time, he listened to the
husband.
He had loved her.
Ryan had made a mistake.
An irreversible mistake.
End of Part 8
**********************************
Part 9
Regency Hotel
March 23, 2000
12 Noon
Scully put down the telephone.
"Mulder. He called in sick today."
"Really? That's interesting."
"So your appointment tomorrow is being pushed back an
hour to make room for someone he missed today. That's
why they called."
There was a knock on their hotel room door. Scully got
up, looked through the peep hole and saw Detective
Johnston. She opened the door and let him in.
"Hi, Ed," she said to him as he handed Mulder a huge
packet of files.
"This is everything I could find. I'm sorry for the
delay but I needed to track down the Bakers in France
and that was not easy, let me tell you. They must have
thought Ryan would be running after them because they
went deep into hiding. I needed their permission before
I could access certain files."
"Well, as long as I can look at them before the actual
murder attempt occurs on our lives, I'm a happy camper."
Mulder smiled.
"You think there's anything in there?"
"Probably not, but leave no stone unturned and all
that."
Scully watched the two men from an armchair she was
resting against.
"This is a very odd case," she observed.
"Tell me about it," Ed said.
"No. I mean, sitting around and waiting for something to
happen when you have absolutely no guarantee that it
will. What happens if he doesn't do anything? Do we wait
another year?"
"He has to do something. I mean, I absolutely think it's
a pattern he cannot break at this point. I just don't
see any other choice."
"He still might not choose us, though."
"There is no one else in his clientele that even
remotely fits the bill. Frankly, it's you or no one and
I think he sees that, too."
"That reminds me, we need to discuss a slight change of
the scenario."
Ed looked a bit flustered that she was consulting with
him. Obviously, Mulder had told her about his being
upset over her change of "script" the previous evening.
Mulder took over the story. "Yes, we do. Originally, I
thought that it was not a bad idea to come in close to
the anniversary date and announce to Ryan that I slept
with another woman. But, you heard him. He doesn't
believe that I really have an issue in that department.
So, I think we have to come up with some other slightly
shocking scenario."
"Like what? We do have to push this guy in the direction
he's already heading in, hopefully. He has to not like
you and want to murder you, just as much as he wants to
save Scully. I think Scully earned some brownie points
in that direction. . .in a slightly different way than
we had planned," he smiled at her. "What can you do,
other than announce an infidelity, that would repulse
him that much?"
"A child," Scully said.
"What?" Mulder looked at her.
"I think you should tell him that you want to have a
child. There have been no children in any of these
couples' lives. I don't think that's an accident. While
he's "saving" the women, he's making sure there are no
children left behind. If you tell him you are seriously
thinking about having an heir to the business throne,
without much love or desire for an actual baby, it might
spark something from his own youth and push him into
making the decision he is hopefully already leaning
toward."
Mulder cast a tentative look at her. She gave him a
strong, steady one in response. Her infertility was not
an issue at all. It was a case. This was a good move. He
received the message and moved on.
"So, Ed--not a bad idea?"
"I could see it. He might not completely believe that
you'd be ready to cheat--but the thought that one minute
you could be considering it and the next, you're
haphazardly reaching what should be the most carefully
thought out decision of your life. . .that might not sit
well. I think he'd be the type of person to take
fatherhood very seriously. You being as flippant about
it as you were with your marriage vows, yeah, that could
seal the deal."
"Great. We'll do it then."
"Oh. . .Mulder. There is something else. I mean, it's
nothing concrete but I got a phone call from the prison
this morning. Had a long conversation with Louis Adler.
He said he's been having some dreams about the night of
the murder. Absolutely nothing new but he wanted to let
you know that this is the first time he's been dreaming
about it since it happened and he's trying to write
things down in case he finds there is a small detail
that he forgot to tell you about or that wasn't in the
court records."
"Great. Do you think you could have them fax me those
pages? "
"Don't see why not."
"Okay, then. I guess today we are pretty much stuck just
going over some more paperwork."
"Not me. I've got the ultimate in exciting challenges.
Sitting outside Ryan's apartment building waiting to see
if he leaves at any time. Which he won't. Which means, I
basically watch a door for hours. Hopefully, I'll get to
see an occasional dog peeing on a doorman--or something
to break the monotony."
Ryan Wilkins' apartment
March 24, 2000
Midnight
Ryan looked over at the chamber. All the wax was melted.
It looked a little polluted. Not the clear wax that he
used on the customers in the spa. But this held a
multitude of sins and should be murky, he thought.
His eyes hurt. The throbbing in his head had subsided
but he was a little dazed from the day's over use of
medication. And, he was tired. So very, very tired.
Two more days.
He still had a few arrangements to make.
Two more days.
And it would be over.
Regency Hotel
1 AM
Mulder was in the shower. They had worked hard all day
and took turns napping for an hour or two while the
other stayed awake. It was more or less a mutual
decision to go to bed for a few hours.
To bed, or to sleep?
He had no idea.
He knew how tired Scully was and there were signs that
she was feeling a bit sore from their activities the
previous night. It had been a really long day. He didn't
know if he should approach the subject of sleeping
together this evening. . .thus being somewhat
presumptuous, or if he should go in the other room and
let her sleep--risking her feeling unwanted again. He
smiled. They were totally fucked up.
He threw on a pair of sweatpants and walked out of the
bathroom. Scully was leaning on her side, patting the
mattress to the left of her.
"You coming, Mulder? After all. . .we are married now."
She said with a raised eyebrow and great amusement in
her eyes.
Her eyes. Beautiful, clear blue eyes he had looked into
a million times. He didn't know where they would go from
here. He did know that if they never talked about it,
never had a ceremony, never even moved in with each
other full-time, he could not feel more "married" to her
than he did now. There was a spiritual connection
between them that could never be broken. That seemed to
be enough to define the word for him. He walked over to
the bed, never taking his eyes from hers. He climbed in
next to her and sealed his mouth over hers, still not
looking away. She closed her eyes and he lifted his
hands to the side of her face.
"Look at me, Scully. For as long as you can stand it,
look at me."
They kissed again, this time with her eyes open as well.
She found it strangely off-putting to be that close to
someone's eyes, especially Mulder's. His eyes conveyed
everything his words often held back. Sometimes, it was
a bit too much. She pulled away from his kiss and put
her fingers gently on his upper cheekbones.
"This is what scared me."
"My face?" He smiled warmly, the golden-green of his
eyes still not changing.
"This intensity. Your intensity. I thought it would
swallow me whole."
"And has it?"
"No. I'm still here. I'm just surrounded by you."
He looked at her.
"I always had the feeling you would be this way," she
told him.
"You still haven't told me if that's a good thing or
not," he said softly, running his fingers down her back.
"It's an overwhelming thing but yes, it's good. Very
good." She took one hand and brushed her fingers through
his hair. "I'm not the best at saying things you might
need to hear, Mulder. I'm sorry."
His eyes never left hers.
"You say everything I need to hear. . .I don't need
words."
He lowered her to the bed. It was all right. They were
married now.
Invigoria spa
2 P.M.
Mulder was laying back on the table with a deep blue
mask on his face. Ryan had been a bit on the quiet side
and didn't look well. Perhaps he had really been sick
when he took the day off yesterday.
In any case, he would have to be the one to bring the
subject up.
"I have to thank you, Ryan."
"You're welcome. What did I do?" Ryan smiled. It was a
genuine, if tired, smile.
"I thought about what you said. . .you know, the fish
and cut bait stuff. And, you were right. Katherine does
mean a lot to me. So the fizz is gone a little. I know
she's been making plans to try and spice up our lives.
She thinks it's some big secret but I know she's going
in soon and getting a few nips and tucks. . .and a
little padding where nature was stingy. So, maybe we'll
get back some of what we had at the beginning. But, I
was also thinking about the future. We've both been so
busy with our business lives that we are forgetting
something very important."
"Oh, yeah? What's that?"
"An heir."
"An heir." He repeated flatly.
"Yes. We have this massive business that I inherited and
made, really. I need to leave this to someone
eventually. So. . .I think I'm going to talk to
Katherine about a baby. A young man. . .or woman, if
she's got as good a head for business as her mother--who
can take this business on for the next half century or
so."
Mulder watched as Ryan took a small step back and looked
Mulder right in the eyes. He hated that. He internally
steeled himself against Ryan's form of "soul searching"
and faced his gaze head-on.
Ryan's expression did not change.
Finally, he dropped his gaze.
"The birth of an empire. . .right here in the salon. I
think that's a first."
Mulder smiled at him for lack of a better thing to do or
say.
He had no idea what impression he left on Ryan this
time.
Regency Hotel
9 P.M.
Scully was on the bed, reading the old files while
Mulder spread out the files Ed had given him from the
intended fifth victims. They hadn't been focused on
much, aside from Ed's original profiling, because no
actual attempt had been made on their lives. Mulder
wanted to make sure there wasn't something they should
be taking note of. He had read the files the day before
and found nothing but he was re-reading them again
today. There was nothing more for them to do at this
point except hope that some tiny piece of evidence would
leap out at them.
They worked in silence for quite some time.
"Scully?"
"Hmmm?"
"Did you listen to the tapes from my session with Ryan
today?"
"Yes, I did."
"Any impressions?"
She looked up from what she was doing.
"None at all. I think you sold it well, for what it's
worth. You had that "I've got a brilliant plan I just
thought of, even if it makes no sense" excitement in
your voice."
"And you've heard this tone before?
"Dozens of times. Usually before you tell me about some
mutant we'll have to chase somewhere."
He laughed.
"So, you think I sold it?"
"I'm not sure. You said he looked at you strangely. But
he gave no indication of disapproval or anger or
anything?"
"Nope. Not a clue. Not a flicker of an eyelid or
anything."
She pursed her lips as she thought.
"That's what the most frustrating thing is, Mulder. In
most of our cases, we've always got someone to chase. .
.we've always got things to run down. In this one, we're
stuck just reading files a hundred times over and
waiting for. . .well, we don't know exactly what we're
waiting for. We know what we're hoping for, but there is
no guarantee that it will happen. It's frustrating."
"It is." He looked down at the paper. "You know, I am
reading something here and while nothing is striking me
at all. . .I just have this feeling that there is
something I'm seeing and not seeing at the same time."
"Okay. Let's review it together. The Bakers--how old?"
"She is 35, he's 37."
"Correct age range. Good. Move on to the next thing. How
long have they been married?"
"Twelve years."
"Also pretty much the same as the others. Although I
think that's rather coincidental since Ryan has never
asked either of us how long we've been married."
"No. That's true."
"How long did they know Ryan?"
"Four months."
"And she was planning on having plastic surgery?"
Mulder rummaged through his papers.
"Well, according to Ed's notes. . .yes. She had told
them that she was seriously considering rhinoplasty and
had told Ryan about this."
"Rhinoplasty? Well, Mulder. . .are there any medical
records there?"
"No. None. "
"I think we should get them or have someone get in touch
with Mrs. Baker."
"Why?"
"Because rhinoplasty is not just done for cosmetic
reasons. There are many reasons for it. Significant
medical reasons."
"But Ryan might have thought she was just having a nose
job for cosmetic reasons."
"Let me see her picture again."
They had both looked before but didn't pay all that much
attention. He handed her the photograph.
"Mulder. . .this woman does not need a nose job in order
to look better. She's got a beautiful nose."
"Yes, but she might have told Ryan. . ."
"I think we have to know exactly what she told Ryan."
"Why?"
"Because he might never have planned to kill the Bakers
at all."
End of Part 9
*********************************************
Part 10
Invigoria Day Spa
March 25, 2000
4 P.M.
One more chance.
Scully knew she had one more chance to get one of Ryan's
special invitations and while she was swirling her feet
in the paraffin, she discovered she didn't have to think
of a way to wrangle an invitation. It was handed to her.
. .special delivery.
"You like that, don't you, Katherine?"
"The wax? Oh, yeah. It's great. I wish we could do the
entire legs. That would feel so good after running
around Manhattan all day."
"We can. I was actually going to ask you and Bill. I
have this contraption. . .it's at home. I give special
treatments in my spare time. It's kind of an entire-body
paraffin treatment and my customers love it. I don't
offer it to everyone because. . .well, frankly, I think
the salon may feel I'm cheating them out of business but
I charge the rate for the hour you would spend doing
just your feet here and with those I trust. . .I
consider it a service to my special customers."
"Wow. I'd love it. And, Bill loves any kind of beauty
treatment you can imagine." She smiled to herself. "He's
kind of vain that way."
Ryan looked away.
"I don't think your husband is all that vain, Katherine.
And vanity is not the problem anyway. Conceit is. There
is a difference. Everyone looks in the mirror and has
flashes of self-doubt, or self-love. It makes no
difference. It's an opinion. Conceit is a judgment. It
places you in the role of judge and jury. Turn it toward
another, and it can bring out the ugliness in even the
most beautiful of physical specimens."
He turned and faced her, "That doesn't really describe
your husband at all, does it?"
There were those eyes again. Sad this time. Very, very
sad.
"I hope it doesn't," Scully replied, trying to lighten
the mood for some strange reason she couldn't put her
finger on.
"Well, I'm glad we're going to give him a new treatment
to talk about and enjoy. Tomorrow. . .my apartment. .
.I'll write down the address and give it to you on the
way out. Around noon? Do you think you both can make it
at that time? I like having these sessions together
because. . .well, you are in my apartment. . .alone and
while you may trust me here, and I can assure you that
you can trust me in my apartment as well. . .still, I
want to make sure you are completely at ease and it
offers me protection as well, from any kind of
harassment suit. These days. . .litigation and all of
that."
"I understand. Yes, 12 would be fine, I think. If
there's a problem, just leave your phone number as well,
all right?"
"Certainly."
It was done. They had a date with destiny.
Regency Hotel
10 P.M.
Mulder took the washcloth and was absentmindedly running
it up and down one of Scully's legs, as it half-hung
over the edge.
"You liked that, I gathered?" Mulder whispered in her
ear.
"I liked it a lot. I think it will take its place up
there with the all time top ten things to do in a
bathtub."
He ran his hand between her legs and listened happily
for her moan. She reached behind her lazily and pulled
his head to her neck, where he quietly grazed for a
while.
"So. . .Mulder. What do you think we should wear to our
date with a serial killer in the last phase of his
operation?"
"I have no idea. Something trendy, I would imagine. .
.since longevity is not something we're aiming for in
this case."
She smiled, but didn't feel the humor. Neither did he.
This whole case was built on sadness and misery and no
amount of witticism would take away that sting.
"You a little scared?" He asked her.
"A little."
"Well, I have just been assured by our buddy, Ed, that
they will be right outside his door while we are inside
having our special treatment. He certainly can't
hypnotize or mind-control or whatever the hell he does.
. .both of us, at the same time. And, that's really not
the MO, so we're pretty safe. And there will be no less
than four officers. . .including Detective Johnston
himself, in this very suite, in strategic, though
hopefully hidden locations when we get back."
"The closet?"
"More than likely. Or the bathroom. I'm leaving the
details up to them."
"So. . .hopefully, they will intercept him before he
plunges the morphine into my system."
"Scully. . .the minute he picks up the syringe. . .he's
as good as locked up."
"I know, it's just difficult not knowing exactly what
Ryan does." She looked thoughtful. "Don't you think it's
strange. . .that from the very first, we all referred to
him as Ryan. Not "the suspect" or Mr. Wilkins."
"It's probably a little sad on some level."
"It is. He pretty much determines it by never
introducing himself with his last name at all. And, I
don't think it's just a dislike of having his father's
last name. . .I think he doesn't see himself as a
"mister," at all. He sees himself as a boy without his
mom. You know what I mean?" she asked.
He was completely serious when he responded.
"Yes, I guess I do. Childhood must run its course. It's
very important. When it's. . .interrupted. . .the
effects last a lifetime."
She lifted his hand from her leg and held it against her
chest.
"I wasn't referring to you, just for your information."
"I know, but I'm a conceited bastard. I personalize
everything."
"Conceit? What was that speech all about Mulder?"
"Some hidden message, no doubt. To me? To you? To
himself? Who the hell knows? There are things about this
case, Scully. . .that we might never know. He just might
not be willing to open up even after we catch him in the
act."
She was quiet for a while, rubbing the hand she still
held against her, while his other hand was wrapped
tightly around her waist.
"We should probably get a few hours of sleep and then
get up early and prepare. . ."
Yes, that would be a good idea. 6 AM all right with
you?"
"Fine. Sure."
"Mulder?"
"Yes?"
"A little life-affirmation before we go to sleep?"
He smiled. Leave it to Scully to come up with a tasteful
way of putting it.
"I'm always up for life-affirmation."
She smiled as he playfully pushed his pelvis against her
backside. Leave it to Mulder to come up with the
understatement of the year.
Ryan Wilkins' Apartment
11: 50 PM
The hardest part. Pulling out the urn. His father's urn.
He had never used his ashes before. He felt his father
was beyond any use to anyone. Ever. But he was wrong. He
reminded him that there was an arrogance in this world.
The arrogance born of thinking you were better than
anyone in this world. He upended the urn and let the
entire contents float in the wax.
He went to the mantle and took his mother's urn. She had
helped a few before her. The urn wasn't quite as full as
it once was.
He held the cool metal to his forehead.
"Help me, momma. Please, please help me."
A few tears squeezed out of the corner of his eyes. He
kissed the urn and opened it. The ashes floated for a
moment and then gently flowed downwards. He watched
until his eyes were too blurred to see.
Regency Hotel
March 26
5 A.M.
It was 5 A.M. when they got the call. Scully picked it
up and talked at length to Genevieve Baker.
Her rhinoplasty was for a severely deviated septum that
was interfering with her breathing and giving her bouts
of dangerous sleep apnea. Ryan knew that. Yes, her
husband was a bit of a workaholic and could come off as
a bit of an asshole, but he still was attentive to her
and did not badmouth her to Ryan. They had many honest
discussions on that during the last few days.
Ryan had always been polite and nice and had
commiserated with her over her one other attempt at
cosmetic surgery in the past. A breast enlargement that
had gone wrong when the implant had leaked. Scully put
down the phone.
"They were not going to be the next victims, Mulder."
"What?" Mulder had been to the bathroom and back and was
half-dressed by the time she hung up.
"Nope. She was having this nose job for purely medical
reasons. . .not cosmetic and , unlike the other victims,
she had had plastic surgery before. A breast job that
was messed up. She had discussed it with Ryan at one
point. They both talked about the evils of cosmetic
surgery done by hacks."
"So. . ."
"So, there is a good chance that Ryan has some other
couple lined up that Ed might not know about."
"No. That doesn't make any sense, Scully. Ed's been
watching him for a really long time. No one goes in or
out of that apartment except the UPS man, and that's
only for a split second."
She sat back down on the bed.
"Then, he wasn't planning on killing anyone this year?"
"I can't see that, either."
"So. . .he was waiting for us to make our triumphant
entry?"
He smirked and picked up a file of faxes from the
prison. Louis Adler's dreams. He and Scully had read
them both and they were word for word descriptions of
the murders as they had already been told. Might as well
give it another reading. Scully picked up the room
service menu and looked for something light and fairly
healthy.
"Wait. Scully. . .look at this."
"What?" She came around to the couch and looked over his
shoulder.
"Is this an 's'?"
She pulled the file out of his hand and held it closer
to her face.
"I think. . .I think it might be."
"Shots? I thought there was only
one shot."
"Maybe he was writing fast."
Mulder was on the phone to the prison before Scully
could come up with another possible reason for the
slight glitch in Adler's handwriting. After about a half
hour of negotiation with officials, they got the
prisoner from his cell and put him on the phone.
"What?" Adler's voice was still rough with sleep.
"I was rereading the fax sent to me. About your dream
Wednesday night. You said. . .I gave her the shots. .
.more than one shot. Was this just a mistake in writing.
Think carefully, Louis."
There was silence on the other end for a moment.
"There were two shots. I see myself giving her one, and
it wasn't enough. I had to give her another. I see
myself panicking. She had another and everything was
fine."
"Thank you. I'm sorry to disturb you."
"That's all right. . .just. . ." Mulder hung up and
started dialing another number immediately.
"Ed. . .get in his apartment now. On any pretext
whatsoever. . .just get in there. We'll be down there in
ten minutes. If everything is all right we will meet you
in the stairwell of his floor. . .don't ask. . .just go
in there."
"Mulder?"
"It makes sense now, Scully. It makes an awful kind of
sense."
March 26, 2000
6:10 A.M.
They opened the fire door to the fifth floor after
finding no one at the landing. The sounds of a full-
blown police investigation were already filling the
quiet hallway. There were six cops, one coroner, and
several paramedics basically standing around, useless
for the moment.
Ed met them at the door.
"Case closed, I guess." He moved aside. The glass coffin
was filled. In it, Ryan lay lifeless. His feet chained
to a heavy stone block, his wavy hair free from the
confines of the elastic band, floating around his grey
face. The blue-green changeable eyes were in one
position now, with no life reflected in their oceanic
depths.
Scully and Mulder both closed their eyes briefly. Too
late. They figured it out too late.
"How did you know?"
"We got a call from the Bakers. They didn't fit the
profile after all. Not in the right way. And then. . .we
found out there was a botch up in the last murder. He
made a mistake and Laura Adler didn't die peacefully.
Suddenly, his little speech about conceit and paybacks
and right and wrong all made sense."
They stood in silence as they watched the detectives
snap random photos of the crime scene and stayed until
Ryan was lifted out of the wax. It congealed into a mask
as his cold body hit the air.
The coroner had determined time of death to have
occurred shortly after midnight. Ryan had injected
himself with morphine that was probably quite old and
took longer to work. He had chained himself into the
coffin-like structure to avoid any possibility of
changing his mind due to the panic of a slow death.
He had left behind a video taped confession, carefully
explaining the mechanics of how he committed the
murders, essentially freeing the imprisoned men. He went
to his death believing in the guilt of three of the
husbands but told the complete story anyway. He also
gave quite a detailed description of his theories on the
body and soul of every living creature but that was
virtually dismissed as the ravings of a madman by almost
all but Ed Johnston and the visiting DC investigators
Mulder and Scully were left a little memento as well. In
Ryan's hand, there had been a plastic bag and in the bag
was a letter addressed to William Fox.
"Dear Bill,
You are going to probably be hearing a lot of things
about me in the next few days and essentially, I'm
writing to let you know that I never had any intention
of doing any harm to you or to your wife. My purpose in
life was to alleviate the suffering of a select group of
women. Women who, like my mother, were prisoners of the
lives they had chosen. Prisoners of powerful, careless
men who used them and then treated them as property.
Property they felt they had every right to tear down.
I had a gift, Bill. From a very young age. It was
actually a curse. I felt people's feelings so strongly.
I understood their pain. Especially women's. My mother
had made the mistake of loving a man that killed her as
sure as if he wielded a knife and plunged it into her
heart. I lived with the pain she felt.
I don't know why you lied to me, Bill. . .but you did.
I knew it almost from the start. I told your wife that
the body does not lie. You were telling me words that
your eyes did not convey the truth of. I've tried to
figure out the whys behind it. Human nature fascinates
me. But it doesn't matter. You and I, believe it or not,
share something. I know you had great pain in your life.
Great guilt. I wasted my life trying to assuage all of
it. I hope you do not follow in my footsteps.
Love the wife you already love with all your heart. Live
your life.
--Ryan"
March 28, 2000
9:30 AM
Scully packed the suitcases in the trunk of the car.
Mulder was still schmoozing with Ed, receiving his
eternal gratitude and an open invitation to come to New
York under more amiable conditions.
Scully closed the trunk and joined them.
"And listen. . .while the other two guys are still shell
shocked and have started some major league therapy to
get over their feelings of guilt. . .Louis, I think, if
he ever remarries and has kids will name his first born
after you two. You can't even imagine the joy he's
feeling right now. He was released late last night. I
pulled a few strings."
"Good. Good. I can't help feeling that. . ."
"Mulder. . ." Scully touched his arm and he looked down
at her and smiled. She knew it hadn't been easy for him
to discover that he was perhaps the only man Ryan had
ever made any real connection with.
"I know, Mulder," Ed said. "You want to save the whole
fucking world. Maybe if he had therapy. . .maybe if he
had been born to different parents. . .but, you know,
he's not the first one who had a really, really rough
childhood. Some people rise above and some people stand
still and some people. . .go off the deep end. Ryan not
only went off the deep end, he took people with him.
Can't save um all, Mulder. If he hadn't botched up last
year's murder, he would have gone on killing until we
stopped him. So. . .thank you. You saved lives. That's
all we can do."
They shook his hand and bid him farewell. Mulder got in
the driver's seat and Scully strapped herself in with
her seat belt. Mulder sat there.
"Well? Come on, Mulder. I want to get home as soon as
possible. We have some more fishing to do."
He smiled but didn't move.
"Mulder?"
He looked out the window and smiled as a bell hop
brought down the chair they had first made love on.
Scully blushed bright red as it was being put in the
back seat.
"I paid a pretty penny for that chair, Scully. You know,
a good fisherman needs good bait."
Scully laughed and reached out her hand to clasp his, as
it lay on the seat between them.
"The only bait I need is right here, buddy."
"Now she tells me," he tipped the bellboy and pulled the
car out into the Manhattan traffic.
The End.
Author's Notes:
Once again, thank you, Christina. Reading something for
enjoyment is one thing. Reading it with a fine-tooth
comb, is quite another. I can't tell you how much I
appreciate all your help.
This is my first case file and I think I'd like to
dedicate this to all the wonderful authors out there who
have given me so many hours of enjoyment with their own
case files. Your creativity made me want to try this
myself. It was a challenge and I thank you for that.
Personally, this one is for Mom. For her endless
support. . .even if she doesn't quite understand why
anyone would spend so much time writing something they
don't get paid for!
Visit the Rain Room...fan fiction by Gina Rain
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